


The Stag and The Snake: Coupling

by JBankai89



Series: The Stag and The Snake [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst, Animal Transformation, Arranged Marriage, Drama, Eventual Smut, Evil Severus Snape, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild OoC, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Romance, Slow Burn, betrothal, mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6515953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vernon Dursley is enraged with the prospect of raising a boy he never wanted. Petunia recalls something that might help them get the child out of their hair more quickly. Overcoming their recalcitrance for anything magical, they invoke The Rite of Betrothal. Who will Harry be forced to marry, and will he be able to cope with all the demands it will entail?</p><p>
  <b>Edited and reposted 01/04/2k17</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This started out as an arranged marriage story inspired by The Swan Princess/Swan Lake, and I sorta went from there. It doesn't follow canon super closely, but I had a lot to cover in this story and I didn't want it to get overly complicated, plus I didn't want it to drag. The story is mostly PG and PG-13, but its sequel WILL BE EXPLICIT.
> 
>  **An Important Note About The Sequel:** Due to a couple of comments I've received on and off AO3, I need to note that the sequel (Anima Speculo Maledictum) will contain elements of Noncon and descriptive Sexual Assault. Please keep this in mind if you feel that reading about it will be triggering to you. Happy reading!

The Stag and The Snake

Part I: Coupling

Chapter 1 – The Boy

 

“I won't have one in the house Petunia! I won't!” Vernon Dursley raged as he stomped back and forth in the front room, his breath escaping him in sharp, enraged puffs. “Your—your _sister's_ wedding was bad enough, but dumping their child on our doorstep is the _last straw!_ ” he took the yellowed parchment he had been holding and threw it down on the coffee table.

The child in question was curled in a makeshift highchair next to his cousin in the kitchen. He winced and vocalized gurgled whines of protest as Dudley reached out and prodded him sharply, before breaking into a fit of delighted giggles as though entirely unaware of his father's explosion of anger not ten feet from him.

“Vernon, dear,” Petunia said in an attempt to placate him, “you saw that letter, that—that oh, what's his name _—_ wrote. I _do not_ want those—those people coming round here and interrogating us if we dumped him in the nearest orphanage. What would the neighbours think? No. The safest option is to take in the boy.” Petunia was striding towards the kitchen where the boys were waiting, her fingers pressed against her temples as Harry continued to whine in discomfort, his cousin still prodding him like a ripe peach.

“There must be _something_ we can do to be shot of him,” Vernon grumbled, sinking heavily into an armchair while he rubbed his hand across his jaw in frustration. His anger was already beginning to ebb, though it refused to fade completely. “Nothing from that—that _sister_ of yours in how long? And now she dumps her good-for-nothing son on us.”

“Five years,” Petunia replied bitterly from the kitchen, sitting down and beginning to dole out the baby food, her movements jerky as though she was just barely able to keep her anger in check. “Of course, you would expect such a thing from _those people_. No sense of decorum. As if I hadn't made my feelings about her _perfectly_ clear.” Vernon trudged into the kitchen and sat next to his wife as she spoke, nodding in agreement while she began to feed Dudley, completely ignoring her nephew, focusing intently on her own child, as though Harry was invisible.

“Although,” Petunia said after a few moments of tense silence, her lips pursed as though she had swallowed a lemon, “I believe I remember something she was telling that—that _Potter_ about,” she sneered as though she was speaking of an escaped convict, and not her postmortem brother-in-law. Vernon looked up from his own dinner, the piece of steak hovering on the tines of his fork, halfway to his mouth. “Some sort of marriage ritual or something,” she winced as she said it, as did Vernon. “Of course, I wasn't listening very carefully—” Petunia continued in a tone that clearly indicated that she was loath to discuss anything that even came close to the Wizarding World, “—but if we can contact these—these _Ministry_ people, we may be able to get rid of the boy a great deal sooner,”

 

~*~

 

It took Vernon Dursley a full four weeks to work up the nerve to contact the Ministry of Magic.  This was not without an enormous amount of internal struggle on his and Petunia's part, battling with their feelings of having absolutely no desire whatsoever to associate with anything pertaining to  _their lot_ , also desperate for a loophole to get rid of the boy. Their desire to get rid of Harry proved to be the stronger impulse, and Vernon drafted a letter.

Vernon's letter was brief and to the point, though when it was completed he was uncertain where to send it. In the end, he had used the return address that had been left with the boy one month prior. Vernon and Petunia worked themselves into a state of panic, Petunia watching the front car park near-constantly with narrowed eyes, as though daring a wizard to stroll up Privet Drive in broad daylight.

It was another fortnight before they received an answer, though not in the way that they had expected.

Petunia finished putting the boys down for the night, Dudley in his nursery and the boy in a small manger in the cupboard under the stairs. It wasn't as if the boy  _needed_ space anyway, and if they were to be rid of him soon, why bother putting him up in anything to begin with?

She eased into the armchair next to her husband in their front room, cradling a cup of sweet tea in her hands. The light dusting of snow on the front garden outside twinkled merrily, and despite the festive decorations that adorned their own home, there was a distinctive chill in the air.

“You'd think these people would be _prompt_ ,” Petunia sniped after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. This was hardly the first time she had voiced her frustrations, making it clear that taking care of her dead sister's son was as pleasurable to her as cleaning a chimney with a toothbrush.

“At least we now know why this bloody country's in such a state,” Vernon grumbled, “with people like _them_ in government, taking their sweet bloody time responding to honest taxpayers—” his tirade was cut short by a soft knocking on their front door, which silenced him at once.

The couple exchanged a look of panic, and Vernon stood swiftly to see who it was, though they both had the same sinking feeling that they knew  _exactly_ who it would be. What decent person would come to call at such an hour? Petunia smoothed down her clothing, seemingly teetering between a burning desire to show whomever it was how normal, civilized people lived, and absolute disgust at the prospect of allowing people like  _them_ into her home.

“Ah, yes, good evening Mr Dursley,” a squat man with a childlike round face and thinning blond-grey hair stood between two taller figures just outside the front door. One of the men was tall and broad shouldered, with waves of dark hair cascading to his shoulders, the other a tired-looking man with light brown hair and sparse facial hair. Vernon was relieved to see that they were dressed normally, all in business-casual suits in varying shades of grey and black. “My name is Carvell Roper, I am with the Bloodlines and Bondings Office, I must say we were most surprised when we received your owl,” Mr Roper chortled merrily, though his companions remained stony-faced. “I had no idea Muggles like yourself even knew how to _use_ owl post!”

Vernon was struck dumb. He gritted his teeth and felt his anger heat his face. How  _dare_ this man openly discuss his abnormality! In  _public_ ! He made a step forward, debating whether to throttle the man or simply give him a piece of his mind, when one of the taller men intervened. “Perhaps,” said the dark haired one, resting a hand on Mr Roper's shoulder, “it would be best to continue our conversation out of plain sight?” Vernon felt himself relax, only barely. At least one of these people had a sense of propriety.

“Oh yes, Mr Black, of course,” he said, glancing briefly to the man apparently called Mr Black, then back to Vernon. “Mr Dursley, if you would be so kind, we can come in and discuss your request.” The little man seemed to be almost in a state of fits, his excitement coming off of him in waves. The sight made Vernon sick to his stomach. Unsure if he would be able to verbalize the invitation, he simply grunted and stepped aside to allow the men to pass.

“How kind of you to invite us into your lovely home,” Mr Roper continued as he stepped into the front room and sat himself at the end of the sofa, while the two other men sat side by side, close enough that it made Vernon's eyes narrow suspiciously. Certainly he hadn't unwittingly invited a couple of nancy boys into his home? He lowered himself into one of the armchairs opposite, and Petunia sat next to him, her fingers white-knuckling the upholstery.

“Some tea, perhaps?” The man with the scraggly facial hair said after several awkward moments of tense silence. Not waiting for an invitation, he whipped out a thin piece of wood that made both Petunia and Vernon tense. He flicked the wand once and a roving platter of cakes, tea, and china cups lowered itself onto the table. The three men helped themselves, but Vernon remained stock still. What _had_ they been thinking, writing that letter and letting these people into their home?

Petunia had whipped her head wide-eyed to the front window at the same moment, and visibly relaxed when she could see none of the neighbours nearby. She refocused her attention upon the three strangers, though her eyes flitted back to the window more than once, as though she was debating whether or not to shut the curtains.

“Yes, to business then,” Mr Roper said with a small clearing of his throat, drawing his attention to the Dursleys once more. “What your dear sister may have been describing is the Rite of Betrothal, something precious few wizards practice in these modern times.” He sipped his tea, while Vernon exchanged a panicked glance with his wife. The thought of _what the hell had they been thinking_ crossed his mind again, and he wondered whether it was too late to throw them out. _No,_ he reminded himself with a little shake, _they will get rid of the boy_.

“However,” Mr Roper continued, “it is not unheard of, especially in Pureblood families. If you are intent to follow through with it, given Harry's Blood Status it may become rather complicated. As I said, most families that continue this practice do so to maintain blood purity, and given that Harry is not a Pureblood, that may prove to be something of a hindrance.”

Vernon and Petunia stared blankly at the little man; most of what he said had sounded downright barbaric to them.  _Blood status? What kind of heathens were these people?_

“In layman's terms,” said one of the other men, presumably sensing the Dursleys confusion, “It means that wiz—er, people in all-magic families are reluctant to bond their son or daughter to someone with muggles—non magic folk—in their family.”

“But given Harry's _special circumstances_ ,” cut in the other man, in a tone that indicated that he wholly disagreed with what they were discussing, “I assume many wizards would love to pair their child with him. He is the saviour of our world, after all.” His tone was clipped and impatient. He shot Vernon and Petunia a look of deepest loathing, making them recoil in their seats.

“We're all aware of your view on the matter, Sirius,” the other man said in an even tone, not giving away his feelings one way or the other. “You are not his legal guardian, and it is up to Mr and Mrs Dursley to decide whether or not they wish to proceed.” The man called Sirius shifted his glare to the man, but after a tense moment he deflated, slumping backwards slightly.

“Fine, Remus, you win. Carry on,” he grumbled, shifting his angry stare from the Dursleys to Mr Roper, to the man called Remus, and back again.

“Now, Mr Dursley,” said Mr Roper, breaking the tense silence that the small squabble had caused, “it may take several weeks to get all the affairs in order. We will need to call upon you again and of course, see young Harry,” Mr Roper stopped himself for a moment, quivering in his chair with excited anticipation, as though he was about to meet the Queen. “After that you would be required to maintain full custody of the boy until his fifth birthday. After that, we would begin the first courtships with Harry's betrothed, meeting once a year for a few days to introduce the pair to one another. Given that Sirius is Harry's godfather, he's sportingly agreed to take the boy under his wing, at least until he goes off to Hogwarts.”

As he spoke, he had pulled a large wad of parchment from his pocket, and was shuffling through the various sheets absently, completely unaware of the blank stares he was receiving from the couple. “I don't know everything about the familial protection charms in place,” he said, extricating what appeared to be a form from the wad he had been rifling through, “security reasons and all that, no, Dumbledore would be the man to discuss that with. However, it would be required that you take Harry back in for a few weeks of each year after his fifth birthday.”

Mr Roper pressed down the form onto the table in an attempt to flatten it, “while we are quite certain He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is indeed vanquished, many of his followers are still at large, and the last thing we would want is to put Mr Potter in unnecessary danger.”

Vernon grunted, his eyes narrowed at the three men across from him as he tried to digest what he was being told.

“This—this _thing_ ,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level, “it takes more time than I'd like. Why is it I can't give you the boy now? We have our own family to look after, we've no time for taking in _strays_.” His breathing had taken on a heavy quality, but the sharp look Petunia gave him enabled him to keep his anger more or less in check.

“Strays?!” sputtered Black, standing up and throwing his hand into the inside pocket of the jacket he wore. Vernon and Petunia recoiled so sharply in their armchairs that they wobbled dangerously, their eyes bulging with shock and fear.

“Sirius, _sit down,_ ” snapped the man called Remus. Sirius froze, his hand still inside the coat, his features contorted with fury, but his gaze locked with Remus. Grumbling, he sat down heavily.

“To answer your question Mr Dursley,” Remus said in an even tone, though there was a distinct note of disapproval in the way his words had suddenly took on a sharper tone, “this evening we can go over the contract with you. Meaning, The Request for Betrothal. It simply states that you wish to marry Harry off to someone. This contract is magically binding, and there is no going back once you sign it.”

Remus paused, as though waiting for Vernon to protest, but with a nod and a gruff grunt, he continued. “We will contact you again, and we would need to meet with Harry, and conduct a—er—meeting, of sorts. This is to determine which child Harry is destined to bond with. Once that is complete, we will contact you and the prospective family, and work out any remaining details.”

“We assumed you would not be wholly comfortable meeting with too many of our kind, and Remus and I would be willing to be mediators. The official paperwork must be handled by yourself and your wife,” Sirius added stiffly, as though it took every ounce of self control to keep himself in some state of calm, and he was all but shaking with anger.

“Quite,” Vernon grumbled, “I haven't got time to drive all over God's creation meeting with you people. Give me the ruddy forms, I'll sign them now.” Remus and Sirius exchanged a look with the Ministry official, and he pushed the parchment across the table. Vernon looked down at the paper, his eyes narrowing at it as though it was throwing verbal insults at him.

 

_Ministry of Magic_

_Bloodlines and Bondings Office_

_Betrothal Contract_

 

_I, Vernon Dursley, and I, Petunia Dursley, do hereby of our own free will wish to betroth Harry James Potter to an eligible suitor by way of the Coupling Charm._

_I understand that this action is irreversible, and any breach of contract will be met with swift punishment._

_I understand that the actions of Harry James Potter and his betrothed will be carefully monitored, and any unseemly action prior to the date of bonding will be met with swift punishment._

_I understand that if Harry James Potter and his betrothed encounter one another outside the supervision of their parent or guardian, they are not permitted to speak or acknowledge each other._

_I understand that Harry James Potter will be expected to meet with his betrothed under parental supervision for one week per year from the date of his fifth birthday (31 July) until the date of his seventeenth._

_I understand that once Harry James Potter comes of age (17), he will be expected to perform the bonding with his betrothed. Failure to do so will result in swift punishment for all contractually involved parties. I acknowledge that Harry James Potter will receive a grace period of one (1) year and six (6) months to finalize his bonding._

_I understand that the aforementioned punishment is unique to the parties in question, and may take many forms—magical, physical, emotional, etc. I acknowledge that I am incapable of choosing the form any punishment may take._

_I understand that this contract is magically binding and irreversible._

_I have read and understood the agreements as stated,_

 

On the very bottom of the page was a small x above two thick black lines.

 

“What is this—this _punishment_ this ruddy thing refers to?” Vernon asked, his words coming out in a sputter of frustration. 

“In magical contracts, there are charms put in place to ensure that the terms are followed,” Mr Roper explained patiently, while he ignored Vernon's huff of anger. “As the contract states, the punishments are unique, and no two people will have the same reaction. This could mean, in the case of a wizard, that their power is bound, and they cannot use it until the terms of the agreement are fulfilled. Or, it could cause the undersigned—meaning yourself, your wife, Harry, and the family of his betrothed to suffer great pain of some kind. There is no way to be certain, and because of that it is generally best to follow the conditions to a T.” The man smiled in what he clearly assumed was a reassuring manner, but Vernon felt another flare of anger.

“This is madness. So, you're saying if we put one _toe_ out of line, this—this _contract_ will attack my family?” The idea was horrifying. Vernon exchanged a worried glance with his wife, to find that she appeared as disgusted as he felt.

“Which is why many wizards no longer practice this rite,” Sirius added tersely, easing back upon the sofa and eyeing the Dursleys with the same level of dislike as he had maintained throughout the evening. With great difficulty, Vernon forced his gaze away from the man, and to the government official.

“But this is certain, we'd only need to keep the boy for four years, and then he's out of our hair?” Petunia's words were clipped and impatient, and Vernon recognized it as her trying mask her alarm at what she was being told.

“It is iron-clad, yes,” said Mr Roper, his beady eyes darting from Vernon to Petunia, and back to Vernon.

The prospect of getting rid of his nephew a great deal earlier than he could have hoped was enough for him. He glanced briefly to his wife, and she gave him a small nod.

 

~*~

 

Another fortnight passed, and the Dursley household had settled into a state of normalcy once more. It was as though the three men had never come at all, though Vernon was unable to chase the memories of them from his mind, in particular the way the man called Sirius, the  _godfather_ —why he had not taken the boy was beyond his comprehending—expressed such vehement dislike for them. Later on, Petunia informed him that he had been chummy with the Potters. 

“Yes he was at the wedding,” she had said in a snappish tone one evening, gripping her teacup with far more force than was necessary. “Close with that _Potter_. Mind, I was there because my parents would never forgive me if I had missed _her_ wedding.” The subject was promptly closed, and he had not pressed his wife for more details. However, neither of them could quash their worry at knowing that these men intended to visit them at some point soon to meet the boy.

_As if the boy could have a say in this anyway!_ Vernon had fumed to himself at the thought of it,  _he can't even talk!_ The concept utterly baffled Vernon, but then,  _their lot_ made precious little sense to him even on his best days.

It was a comfortable Friday evening when Vernon was roused from his armchair by a sharp tapping at the window. Petunia was upstairs with Dudley, the boy having been put away already. Vernon stood and lumbered to the window, where he jumped back with a start. Sitting on the window ledge was a barn owl, an overlarge envelope held in its beak. He recognized the crest on the wax seal, and it filled him with a mixture of relief and dread.

Grimacing as though he was bracing himself to walk across hot coals, he unlatched the window. The bird flew in, dropped the envelope neatly upon the coffee table, and took off again without so much as a moment's hesitation. Vernon closed the window and latched it hastily, then hurried back to the table and tore open the envelope.

 

_Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley,_

 

_Your request for the betrothal of Harry James Potter has been accepted._ (“About bloody time,” said Vernon.)

_Please be advised that a ministry official will call upon you exactly one week from today in order to perform the Coupling Charm. We require your presence, as well as the presence of Harry James Potter. The chosen mediators (S. Black, R. Lupin) will be on hand to answer any questions you may have._

_Expect the Ministry official promptly at 7pm. Should this time be inconvenient for any of the involved parties, please let us know as soon as possible via Muggle Return Address._

 

_C. Roper_

_Bloodlines & Bondings Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

 

At the bottom of the letter was a hastily scrawled address for an office building that Vernon had never heard of.

Vernon paced, letter in hand, half a mind to call the whole thing off. He knew he couldn't, having signed that bloody contract, but the idea of more of  _them_ coming to his home was almost more than he could take.

“Vernon?” Petunia's voice snapped him out of his panic-induced daze. “Everything all right?” Without speaking, he thrust the letter into her hands. Her eyes darted across the paper, her eyes narrowing and her lips pressing together into a thin line the further down she read. When she had finished the letter, she folded it along its creases with calm, slow movements.

 

~*~

 

Friday, at 6:55pm, Petunia was still cleaning.

Of course, they had no desire to  _impress_ these people by any means, but any intimidation Vernon could provide to show them where they stood in his home, he would take it. The sitting room was virtually unchanged from seven days prior, with one sizable difference: The boy, in a particularly foul brown and orange onesie given to Petunia by his secretary. It had been too small for Dudley, and Vernon would be damned if he'd waste his hard-earned money on the brat. He sat in a baby cage that usually housed his own son while his wife cleaned.

The cage was devoid of the usual baby toys, but the boy seemed happy and giggly, which significantly worsened Vernon's mood. However, he felt that if that  _Black_ fellow was returning this evening, anything that portrayed maltreatment of the boy would be a bad idea. As such, they bent their rule of keeping the boy as downtrodden as possible—just for tonight.

At exactly seven o'clock, Petunia hastened into the sitting room with Vernon, smoothing her hands over her dress as she went, looking as haggard as he felt at the prospect of more of _their_ _lot_ descending upon their home. At the same moment, a sharp knock sounded from the front door.

They exchanged a petrified look and froze momentarily. The gurgling vocalizations of their nephew brought them back to their senses, and Vernon walked stiffly to the door. On the other side of it, Vernon was relieved to see, were three people who had the decency to dress normally. He recognized Black and Lupin from their last encounter, but the man standing in front of them was different. He was barely a head shorter than Vernon, with a dark grey combover and a thin moustache. He wore a navy blue business suit, though under his arm he carried several thick scrolls of parchment and Vernon could see the indentation in his jacket where no doubt his wand was hidden.

Fighting the impulse to slam the door and lock it, he stepped aside, not bothering to greet them properly. Petunia, too, seemed to have lost her ability to speak, and instead led the trio mutely into the living room. The atmosphere seemed to change immediately as Vernon heard Black proclaim brightly, “ah, there's little Harry!” By the delighted infantile squeal, it did not surprise Vernon in the least when he followed them in and saw the man bouncing the boy on his knee.

The government official seemed wholly uninterested in Black's antics, though Vernon caught him flick his eyes to the boy's hairline. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but a moment later the man distracted him by clearing his throat loudly and turning his attention to the Dursleys.

“Yes, well, Mr Dursley, Mrs Dursley, my name is Arnold Pike, and I'm the official in charge of your betrothal request. It's a very simple procedure, we are here to cast a charm on Harry to determine who his ideal partner will be. After that, if you so wish, Mr Lupin and Mr Black will take over meetings with the family of Harry's prospective spouse. While Mr Black is not Harry's official guardian, being his godfather is close enough to keep all proceedings legal.”

“I've no time to drive the boy all over God's creation,” Vernon grunted, “Black may do as he likes with him.” There was a definite moment of shocked silence from Pike, but he shook himself off rather quickly and unrolled one of the scrolls of parchment he had carried inside.

Clearing his throat importantly, Mr Pike began to read off the scroll.

“Proclamation of Betrothal: We are gathered here, on 10th January, 1982, to enact the Rite of Betrothal for Harry James Potter. Here may Remus Lupin and Sirius Black bear witness to the Coupling, enacted willingly by request of his guardians, Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley. All assembled have entered into this contract willingly and of their own volition—” Black snorted and Lupin nudged him into silence, “—and now come before the Coupling with open mind and open heart.” Mr Pike looked up and pressed his index finger against a large purple crest etched into the bottom of the paper. The paper seemed to glisten for a moment, then Mr Pike's John Hancock appeared at the bottom of the proclamation.

Lupin and Black mimicked the official's actions, their signatures appearing below his. When the paper was turned towards Vernon, he tensed.

“Not to worry Mr Dursley,” Mr Pike said, in what he must have assumed was a reassuring tone, “it merely is to protect against forgery. It won't hurt you or your wife.” The couple exchanged another terrified look, then grudgingly did as they were told, adding their signatures to the proclamation.

“Right,” said Mr Pike, clapping his hands together. “Onto the Coupling! He rolled up the proclamation and it sealed itself into a perfect, smooth cylinder. He set it aside as he pulled out another scroll of parchment. This one looked significantly older, and thicker. The parchment was yellowed and burnt at the edges, though despite the obvious age it had no creases. Mr Pike pulled out his wand, making the Dursleys freeze with fright, but he simply set the scroll on the table, tapped it once, and it unrolled to lie flat and harmless upon the varnished wood.

“Now, this won't take long, but allow me to just give you some background information before we continue,” Mr Pike's voice took on a businesslike tone, but even then Vernon struggled to take the man completely seriously. “This parchment is called the Scroll of Coupling. It is a very ancient magical artifact, indeed at least a thousand years old. Unfortunately the magic it is imbibed with prevents us from accurately analyzing it—the age is a mere estimation. When a family chooses to have their child betrothed, they go through the official motions as you have done, and the name of the child is placed in a pool, of sorts.

“The child's name will remain there indefinitely until a suitable partner is selected by the Scroll. The chosen coupling is as real as any other contract, and it cannot be negotiated or reasoned with. The name of Harry's prospective partner _cannot_ be altered.” He glanced sideways at Black, who was still holding the boy. Clearly this was in reference to some past disagreement, though Vernon had little interest in asking for the details.

Mr Pike cleared his throat again, though this time there was little call for it. “What will happen now is we will have Sirius place young Harry's hand upon the parchment. As the present official, I will incant it, and with some luck, we will have the name of Harry's bonding partner. If not, we will have to wait until a suitable partner has been put forth, but we shall discuss that further, should it be necessary.”

When the man fell silent, there was an awkward pause, punctuated by a string of delighted giggles from Harry, as Sirius continued to bounce him. Remus was staring across the ministry official at the other man, and the look made Vernon huff softly with disgust. It seemed to him his first  _nancy boy_ assumption had been correct. He decided, for now at least, to hold his tongue. They would be gone soon enough, and thankfully his own son was in bed, far from their potential influence.

“Erm, Sirius? It's time.” Mr Pike said timidly, though in this particular instance Vernon could hardly blame the man. This Black fellow was clearly not someone you wanted to be on the bad side of. Black seemed to snap out of his reverie, and looked down sadly at the toddler in his lap.

“Very well,” he said with a small sigh of defeat. He pulled out his wand and flicked it, the strange parchment sliding across the table and stopping directly in front of him. As the wand came out, the Dursleys had instinctively shrunk back, though the wizards completely ignored their reaction. Black, focused entirely on the boy, took his little arm and gently navigated it to the parchment. Harry giggled and pawed at the paper enthusiastically, his little eyes widening with delighted surprise as it began to glow faintly. Mr Pike waited, his wand poised over Harry's tiny hand.

“ _Vocare Copulare_ ,” he muttered, and the little boy gasped with delight. The parchment flared brightly, as though it was suddenly flooded with starlight. A moment later it faded to an iridescent glow, and slowly something began to flicker in the centre of the parchment, two words that seemed to be written in light instead of ink.

The ministry official balked at the sight of it, and on either side of him both Black and Lupin exclaimed, “ _what?!_ ” and “that can't be right!” simultaneously. Unable to stifle his own curiosity as to what had the men so riled up, Vernon leant forward to read two words.

 

_Draco Malfoy._

 

 

 


	2. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews and kudos! I was way nervous about posting this story, and I'm glad that it's been so well-received so far. I hope you enjoy this installment, and as always please leave your comments and concrit!

Chapter 2 – Negotiations

 

Sirius waited until they had Apparated back to their flat before exploding.

“ _Harry Potter with a family of Slytherin Purebloods!”_ he shrieked, “I won't have it Remus, I won't! And those Dursleys: _'What kind of name is that for a girl?_ ' I mean, how thick can you get? _”_ Remus had eased back into an armchair with a cup of tea, and he watched Sirius pace back and forth in front of the hearth angrily. His own distress over the situation was obvious, though he seemed to be taking it in stride, rather than losing his head.

“There's very little we _can_ do, Sirius. I shudder to think what would happen to Harry if we failed to hold up our end of the bargain. Of course,” his mouth twitched into a small half-smile, “I'm sure Lucius will be _thrilled_ when he gets the news.”

“Pompous git,” Sirius grumbled, “I don't care if he starts handing out sweets to orphans, I still don't like him.”

“I'd be amazed if you did,” Remus chuckled a little, “following the downfall of Voldemort, he did not make much effort to be well-liked by the working-class Wizarding community.”

“And he's a sanctimonious Slytherin git.” Sirius flicked his wand towards the fire grate, and flames leapt up, crackling merrily as though they had been burning for hours. He fell heavily into the armchair next to Remus, and raked a hand through his hair. “I know he was a double-agent and all that, but it won't make me like him any better.”

“We should be grateful he went to such lengths for our side, and at great personal risk to himself, not to mention the safety of his family. Were the situation different, I'm sure he would be considered as much a hero as young Harry, but as it is...” Remus trailed off and pursed his lips. “He'd be as hunted as muggleborns were during Voldemort's reign. It's still to dangerous for his triumphs for our side to be acknowledged. We can't blame him for feigning his loyalty to the Death Eaters, with so many of them still at large.

“Lucius will probably be just as eager to call this whole thing off as we are,” Remus continued in the same even tone, “Harry won't be considered a Pureblood, at least not by a family like that, and despite their recent, ah, affiliations, I think it's safe to say that old habits die hard.”

“Not much any of us can do, I suppose,” Sirius muttered with a heavy sigh, and helped himself to a cup of tea from the low table before him. “I'm not looking forward to that conversation though. When are we scheduled to meet with Lucius and Narcissa?”

“In a fortnight. One of the representatives from the _Bloodlines_ office will be in touch with them, and then we'll need to meet with them to discuss the future of the boys.”

“I can hardly wait.”

 

~*~

 

The following fourteen days passed far too quickly for Sirius and all too soon, he found himself side by side with Remus outside the imposing fortress of the Malfoy Manor. He bit back a complaint of how he'd sooner play keep away with a nesting dragon's eggs than do this, but he held his tongue, given that he was fairly certain that Remus had had enough of his complaining. Seeming to sense his bonded's distress, Remus reached out and squeezed Sirius' forearm gently, and then together they raised their wands and tapped them against the iron-wrought gate.

The gate melted away and the pair stood before a winding path of stone slabs and pebbles pressed into the earth. The path was bordered by meticulously pruned flutterby bushes and scattered upon the lawn was all matter of tasteful, but exotic fauna; from white peacocks and bluebell rabbits, to a pair of impala. Sirius snorted when he saw the animals, but at Remus's hard look, he kept his sarcastic comments to himself.

As they approached the doors, they opened to reveal Lucius Malfoy waiting for them. His expression was difficult to read, though it was obvious that he was as unwilling to allow them in his home as they were to be there. He stood in a fitted, white shirt and black waistcoat that glimmered with a tint of green as the light caught it—dragonhide. He wore trousers of a similar material, and in his left hand he gripped a black cane with a silver snake wrought into the handle.

With as much grace as the man could muster, walking somewhat stiffly from an old wound he'd garnered during the war, he made a sweeping gesture towards the front hall of his home.

“Gentlemen,” he said in greeting, his voice coming off a little sharper than Lucius had probably intended. Sirius did not fail to notice how his eye had twitched and his mouth quivered somewhere between a faint smile and a grimace as he spoke. Though they had, in theory, been working for the same side, Sirius knew that Lucius liked this arrangement no better than they did.

“Thank you for welcoming us into your home, Lucius,” Remus said, nudging Sirius as he did so. Sirius felt as though he had lost his voice for a moment and let out a mumble of agreement, nodding his head once.

“Yes, well,” he trailed off, his nostrils flaring with distaste. “Come, my wife is in the lounge. We shall discuss... _matters_ there.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked off through a passageway to the left of the grand hall.

Sirius kept his eyes forward and narrowed. _I'll kill him if he tries anything_ , he thought, no matter how vehemently Dumbledore and other prominent Order members had vouched for Lucius, he could not let go of his deep distrust. Remus, on the other hand, was smiling placidly as he looked around, taking in the grandeur of the place. Their walk was not a long one, and they stepped into the lounge where Narcissa was waiting with a glass of red wine in her hand. Her lips were pursed and her eyes flashed dangerously, making no illusions about her feelings towards the arrangement.

Lucius joined his wife on the plush love seat. Remus and Sirius sat across from them, and a low table made of glass and dark wood divided them. On the table sat an open bottle of red wine, as well as a partially unfurled letter from the Ministry, presumably detailing the match the Coupling Charm had decided for their son.

Lucius flicked his wand and three more glasses of wine appeared. He took one, flicking his wand again and the remaining two floated towards Sirius and Remus, and they took them with minute nods of thanks. The senior Malfoy took a sip and paused as though using the moment to fortify himself, then shifted his cold grey gaze to the pair. “It seems that we must discuss the prospective bonding of my only son to your—godson.” The words almost came out as a sneer, but as Sirius opened his mouth angrily, Remus nudged him into silence.

“As you are probably aware, Lucius,” Remus began, his tone more stiff than his usual calm, “we are not Harry's legal guardians. However, the Ministry felt it was in his best interest that we—er, act as middlemen between yourselves and Harry's legal guardians, that is, his aunt and uncle. Their distaste for wizards is more or less on par with your feelings towards muggles.” Sirius snorted next to him, but Remus ignored it. “In the hopes of keeping the peace, as it were, we stepped in.”

“And I take it Potter is to be raised by these muggles, then?” Lucius did not manage to completely rid his voice of its disgust at the prospect.

“For now, yes, that is Albus's wish. When Harry and Draco have their first meeting, we will be taking him in, though he will still need to return to his aunt and uncle's house for several weeks out of the year until he comes of age.”

“And I assume that despite this... _arrangement_ , Albus has no desire to tell us _why_ he must return to these muggles?” Narcissa's voice was as cold as Lucius's had been, making it clear that she did not approve of being kept in the dark.

“It isn't a matter of trust or distrust, but the reasoning behind it is an extremely delicate matter,” Sirius said stiffly, “I believe Albus only told us due to the fact that we would be taking Harry in. Had we not been, I doubt he would have told us either.”

“I see,” Lucius mused, though it was obvious he did not like having information withheld. “To this arrangement, I am sure you realize that we must decide upon a surrogate for when the boys bond. It may matter little to you two, but the Malfoy line must continue.”

“It sounds as though you have already accepted it,” Sirius observed, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. Lucius glared at him.

“We most certainly do _not_ ,” snapped Narcissa, narrowing her eyes at her guests, “generations upon generations of purebloods, sullied by that...that _boy._ Unfortunately, even we were unable to break the contract.” She deflated a little, and her eyes flitted to her husband, before returning back to the pair. “Though if you have some other brilliant idea, _cousin_ ,” she sneered at Sirius, “I'd be delighted to hear it.” Sirius fell silent and glared at her. He clearly did not want to be reminded of his lineage at that moment.

“What's done is done,” Remus cut in quickly before the argument could get more heated. “It's a magical contract, and we all know that there are precious few ways to get around it, especially considering Harry's legal guardians are adamant about proceeding. They hate Harry probably as much as Voldemort did.” The Malfoys started, which caused Sirius to raise his eyebrows in surprise. Remus's words seemed to resonate with them, and they did not press the matter further.

“I believe you have every intention of sending Draco to Hogwarts when he turns eleven, then?” Sirius asked as politely as he could in an attempt to break the tense silence.

“Yes, every Malfoy for the last nine generations has attended that school,” Lucius's tone was as strained as Sirius's had been. “And young Mr Potter? I assume his, ah, relatives have no intention of furthering his magical study?”

Remus snorted, his first show of genuine emotion since they had arrived. Sirius couldn't help but stare at him in surprise for a moment. “From what I gathered, they have no plans to send him anywhere—muggle or magical. As to Hogwarts, his name was put down by James and Lily before—” he cut himself off, and his gaze fell. Sirius looked away from the Malfoys, but he listened to Remus continue, his voice distinctively more croaky than it had been a moment before. “Considering his parents were both Gryffindors, I doubt we'll need to worry about the boys being housed together.”

Sirius bit back a laugh, and he returned his gaze to the pair. “Of course, no one can be certain of that, but it seems likely.”

“Quite.” Lucius's gaze flicked to Sirius, clearly remembering the man's own sorting, despite his Slytherinlineage. “However, the fact remains that these boys are from different classes. I will not have my son bond to some sort of ill-mannered half-blood and have them live in a hovel. I insist that we hold their meetings here, and perhaps you two may employ an etiquette instructor for Potter. Living with those...people, I assume he will learn little of our ways.”

“Oh that's just what we need,” sniped Sirius before he could stop himself, “to let Harry grow up to be a pampered little snot like—”

“ _Sirius_ ,” Remus said in a warning tone, and Sirius fell silent at once. His expression did not lose its incredulity at Lucius's request, however.

“Lucius,” Remus said in a tone that clearly expressed that he was trying to keep the meeting from turning into a brawl, “Lily and James left Harry with a small fortune at Gringotts. By the time he has access to it, it will be enough that I doubt you need worry that your son will be living in a _hovel_ , as you put it. Sirius and I intend to do our best to teach Harry our ways but I'm sure you understand, Harry will need to be sheltered from the wizarding community at large—at least until he's ready to face it.”

“Sheltered? To what purpose?” Lucius asked, “I assume this is another harebrained scheme of Dumbledore's?” He looked unhappy, but his outright anger seemed to be fading.

“Harry is barely one year old, and he's considered the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Can you imagine how overwhelming it would be for a child that young? He's famous for something he won't even remember. Dumbledore feels it best for Harry to grow up away from all that. Despite our, erm, special circumstances, I believe it would be best to honour Dumbledore's wish. To that end, I believe the less Harry is exposed to, at least for now, the better.”

“Child celebrities are nothing new, Remus,” Lucius pointed out, “surely that cannot be Dumbledore's only reason for shielding the boy from our ways.” Lucius's nostrils flared in obvious disgust, but Sirius seemed to have a vague idea where he was going with this, and was not disappointed. “I will not have my child bound to someone with little more knowledge of our world than a—a muggle,” he spat the word as though it were a curse.

“This is all we are permitted to disclose at this time,” Sirius said stiffly, and Remus watched him cautiously, bracing himself to jump in if the man lost his temper again. “I'm sure you can appreciate how delicate these matters are.” Sirius's mouth twitched at the corners with amusement, all but telling Lucius how little he trusted them.

“I think,” Narcissa cut in before her husband could respond, “we should return to the matter at hand, our intentions for our sons' bonding.” She pursed her lips, making no secret how she felt about the outcome of the Coupling, though unlike her husband, she kept her remarks to herself. “I believe my husband has already voiced our concerns regarding etiquette and the necessity for a surrogate to be chosen,” her eyes flicked to Sirius, “I would prefer a Pureblood candidate for the surrogacy,” she said in a tone that all but dared any of the men to interrupt her, “in particular from a respectable family...the Blacks, for instance.”

Sirius snorted, but Remus shot him a glare that kept him from saying anything.

“I hardly think that is an appropriate suggestion, Mrs Malfoy,” Remus replied, “Sirius's family made no secret about where their loyalties lay during the war, as you well know. Now if you were to consider a daughter from another Pureblood family, say, the Weasleys—” Lucius barked a derisive laugh that cut Remus off.

“Surely you're joking! The Weasleys mixing their blood with the Malfoys? We may as well pick an urchin off the streets of Diagon Alley!” Sirius groaned and pressed his fingers to his temples. This was going to be a long day.

 

~*~

 

Evening fell, and Sirius and Remus left the Manor with a cloud of gloom hovering over their heads.

None too surprisingly, their definition of wizarding decency was vastly different from the Malfoys' view of it, and their copy of the _Bonding Negotiations_ was almost as blank as it had been when they had arrived earlier that day. They didn't speak as they moved beyond the gates of the Malfoy property and Disapparated, Sirius breaking the silence once they'd gotten back home.

“That went well,” Sirius said sarcastically as he collapsed into his favourite armchair. Remus huffed and strode over to the adjoining kitchen, slamming the near-blank parchment down onto the table as he went.

“These things take time Sirius,” Remus said as he pulled out his wand and gave it a little flick. At once, a drawer opened and several sharp knives flew out of it to meet a handful of onions on the counter, which shot out of their skins as the utensils descended and began to mince. “The Malfoys are used to the entire world bowing to their desires. Obviously, it will take some time before we come to an agreement.” Remus moved to the stove and levitated a large pot onto the cooker. He ignited a fire beneath it with a prod of his wand, and flicked his wand again to add oil and the onions to the pot with a sharp hiss.

Sirius stood up with an exaggerated groan, and wandered into the kitchen to watch Remus cook.

“I just hate that this is happening at all,” Sirius said miserably, “James and Lily gone, Harry living with relatives that don't want him, and when he turns seventeen we're expected to hand him over the Malfoys.” He pressed his thumb and forefinger on either side of the bridge of his nose, bowing his head slightly. “As if the whole thing with Voldemort wasn't bad enough...” he trailed off, and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling while Remus continued to putter around their kitchen, chopping meat, vegetables, and herbs.

“It's out of our hands unfortunately,” Remus said after a few moments of silence. “The best thing we can do is be there for Harry as much as we can, and make this whole experience as painless as possible for him.”

“Assuming all goes smoothly and Voldemort is truly defeated, that is.”

“Don't jinx it, Sirius.”

 

~*~

 

By the fifth week of meetings with Lucius and Narcissa, Sirius felt no more optimistic about the arrangement than he had at the beginning. True, they had begun to concede on certain points, as had he and Remus, and very slowly the _Bonding Negotiations_ contract began to fill.

Unfortunately, their pureblood mania was a constant reminder that he was dealing with a pair of recently reformed Death Eaters, and it made him feel no more at ease. Often he felt as though he was preparing himself to drop Harry into a den of wolves, or snakes, as it were; and he had no idea if the boy would come out of this in once piece. They had yet to even meet young Draco, which Sirius felt was deeply unsettling. He felt a sense of foreboding overwhelm him at the end of each meeting, and Remus's calm reactions did little to quell his worries.

“This is the last meeting, Sirius,” Remus reminded him in an undertone as they followed the path to the doors where Lucius waited, “please try and behave.”

“I will if they keep their pureblood cracks to themselves,” Sirius replied in a deliberately carrying whisper, and Remus elbowed him in the side, a little harder than was probably necessary.

“Gentlemen,” Lucius said with a small incline of his head in greeting. Remus smiled, and Sirius returned the small nod, but didn't speak. The senior Malfoy turned and walked inside, and the pair followed him to the now familiar lounge.

Sirius and Remus were greeted with a surprise when they stepped inside, and took notice of a white-blond toddler on the floor next to Narcissa. He was giggling and flailing a plush snake toy in his chubby little hands. She did not even look up when the men entered, her attention entirely focused on her child. Sirius did not fail to note her expression: it was softer and less haughty, filled with genuine love for her son. The look surprised Sirius a great deal, given that he did not think he had ever seen the woman let her emotional guard down before.

Lucius hardly gave the boy a second glance as he pressed forward directly into the matters at hand.

“In accordance with the bonding traditions, it is now time for you to meet our son, Draco.” Sirius and Remus glanced at each other, then back to the baby. There was no doubt as to who Draco's parents were, with his angular bone structure, bright grey eyes and white-blond hair, he was every bit a Malfoy. Lucius seemed to sense their mild confusion, grumbled under his breath, and elaborated. “It is customary to introduce the parents to the betrothed children on the final day of negotiations. We feel no need to be introduced to Mr Potter, his story is so well known I believe we can wait until the boys' first meeting.”

Both Sirius and Remus nodded in agreement. Having the Dursleys and the Malfoys in the same room was definitely a recipe for disaster. Lucius pulled out the negotiations scroll without another word, clearly intent to go straight to business, again without giving his child a passing glance.

 

While the contract was by no means a tool with which to control the lives of their children, it did cover several key issues that would aid the boys in the start of their life together. Included were Living Conditions: Lucius and Narcissa pushed to have them live in the west wing of the Manor, at least until they had gotten decent jobs, while Sirius and Remus petitioned to pay for a small flat. In the end, they bent to the wish of the Malfoys. Upbringing: Lucius and Narcissa wanted Harry to be given an Wizarding Etiquette tutor, and Sirius protested this idea so vehemently that the Malfoys gave it up. In addition, there were notes of arguments back and forth regarding whether they should police who the boys associated with while at school. Remus quashed upon this at once, in addition debating whether or not they should decide in advance what courses they should choose for the boys prior to the end of their second year, in order to push the pair towards more respectful forms of employment. Sirius protested so loudly against this, the Malfoys gave up on it almost at once.

In the end, everything had been decided, Remus agreed that it was more or less fair despite Sirius's misgivings, and the last item still to be determined was surrogacy. The paragraph at the top where this condition was supposed to be placed was as blank as it had been at their first meeting. Both couples fell into an awkward silence, the only noises in the room being the delighted giggles of Draco as his toy snake went flying across the table and bumped into Remus's calf.

Remus chuckled as the tension broke, and he picked the toy up to hand it back to Narcissa, who almost smiled in thanks. “We've made a short list of families we deem appropriate to participate in the surrogacy, with daughters that will be of an appropriate age when the time comes.” Lucius tapped his wand against the table and a second, smaller scroll of parchment appeared and unrolled itself, showing Remus and Sirius the list of names. They pursed their lips in mirrored expressions of distaste as they looked them over.

“I can't help but notice,” Sirius said in a tone that was less like a casual observant tone, and made it sound more like a thinly veiled threat, “that all the families on here are known Slytherins.” Lucius glared at him. He cocked an eyebrow at the Sirius, as though to say, 'so what?' though he never actually vocalized it. Sirius coiled his hands into fists, but Remus, sensing danger, placed a hand over his fist in an attempt to calm him.

“I understand your desire for your bloodline to continue,” Remus said carefully, “but considering Draco's betrothed, I am sure we can come up with an, er, middle ground.” he smiled, but the two other men were still glaring daggers at one another. “Sirius and I have been thinking,” he pressed on, ignoring the obvious tension that had re-emerged, “Mr and Mrs Xenophilius Lovegood are expecting a child. I have been told that it will be a girl, and they have consented to allow her to be the surrogate if she so wishes, when the time comes.” He paused and looked from one man to the other, “their bloodline meets your criteria, and they are a family of Ravenclaws, quite outside the rivalries between our own school houses.”

Lucius turned to Remus, looking at him as though he only just realized that he was there. His eyes narrowed, though this time in thoughtful contemplation instead of anger. “The Lovegoods are quite...eccentric.” It was not an outright rejection, which was promising.

“Any child the girl has will be raised by Draco and Harry,” Sirius pointed out evenly, “those idiosyncrasies are learned, not hereditary.” Remus beamed at Sirius, clearly amazed that he managed to keep his voice level.

“That is true,” Lucius lifted a hand to rub his chin thoughtfully, and turned to look at his wife. She nodded slightly, then immediately refocused her attention on the child. “Very well,” it was clear by his tone that he did not entirely approve of the decision, but it met the criteria that the Malfoys had set, and as such he had no choice but to concede. Sirius smirked triumphantly.

“And what of the girl?” Remus asked quickly, keeping a close eye on Sirius as he spoke. “I am not entirely clear on the process where she is concerned.” He exchanged a grimace with his bonded, and Narcissa rolled her eyes.

“Don't be so ridiculous. This is akin to an adoption, but with stronger blood ties. The boys need never even meet the girl, save for the delivery of their child, or children. She is not required to have any sort of... _relationship_ with Draco or Potter.”

“I'm assuming then she won't be invited to The First Meeting ceremony?” Sirius's tone had sobered somewhat, as he tried to work through the technicalities of the surrogacy. Given that he and Remus had no interest in it, they hadn't bothered to ever look into how the process worked.

“Of course not,” Lucius snapped, clearly irritated by their ignorance. “For what reason would we invite her? The purpose of that ceremony is for the boys to get to know one another. Of course they will be told eventually of who their surrogate mother will be, but for all intents and purposes, she is a vessel for carrying their future children. She is not intended to be their friend, their wife, or anything of that nature.”

“That's a fairly cold way of looking at it,” Remus said with a small frown.

“Until a practised Healer comes up with something less distasteful, it is the only option.”

 

Sirius and Remus left that evening with the contract filled and signed by all participating parties. Sirius felt terribly guilty about the entire thing.

 _How could we have asked Xenophilius if we could borrow his child's womb, seventeen years from now?_ he wondered, feeling as though they may have not thought it through properly.

Remus reached out and squeezed Sirius's fingers gently. “I know it's unpleasant, but keep in mind that with the Rite there is no time constraints, and the _Negations Contract_ is not binding. At least, not in the same sense. If Miss Lovegood rejects the terms when she is of age, it is fully within her right to do so. We're not forcing her into anything.”

“I know, Remus, it still feels wrong though.” Sirius laced his fingers with Remus's, and squeezed his hand gently.

“There's nothing we can do about it for now. Put it out of your mind and let's go home.” Sirius nodded, and Disapparated.

That night, Sirius's thoughts strayed back to Harry. That little boy was so full of life and light when he had last seen him. After four years with those muggles, would he be the same happy little boy?

 

Sirius wanted to hope for the best, the realist in him seriously doubted it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just to clarify so that I don't get a gazillion comments about it: One: My story, my rules. I made Lucius a double agent, I thought it was the best way to make the story work, while not making him _too_ OOC. Two: In regards to the surrogate mother thing, I was extremely conflicted about adding it in, because I feel like the Malfoys would be pretty adamant about having an heir and I think leaving it out wouldn't make much sense, at least to me. That said, I don't have any plans to turn this fic into some weird threesome thing. This was one of the few times she'll be mentioned or appear. Three: For the purposes of this story, Voldemort is definitely dead, regardless of what the characters say.


	3. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Lets do the time warp againnnn! Thank you everyone for your ongoing support for this story, it warms my heart. This is the first time jump of the story, fast forwarding five years. There will only be three/three and a half time jumps throughout the entire story, and I did my best to make it not to jarring/rushed/etc. As always, comments and concrit are welcome and very much appreciated! I just want to note that my stupid grammar check isn't properly working, and while I'm pretty confident with my grammar know-how, any monumental fuckups I blame on that. Feel free to point those out to me so that I can fix them.

Chapter 3 – First Impressions

 

Four years had passed.

The passage of time at Number Four, Privet Drive, was marked only by the evolution of the family photographs upon the mantle. The little blond toddler had been replaced by a rotund, boisterous boy at the fair with his parents, eating ice-cream by the sea, and standing proudly next to a Christmas tree overloaded with gifts.

Harry's passage of time under the tyrannical rule of his aunt and uncle was marked quite differently. It was punctuated chiefly by memories of running away from his cousin and his friends as they gave chase, and while some of those instances were followed by bloody noses and broken glasses, those times were few. Harry remembered the running and the hiding more clearly, amidst the gales of cruel laughter that snapped at his heels.

Harry remembered watching Dudley as he was doted on by every family member, his own jealousy burning like a fire in his heart; not for the gifts he received, but for the love and attention Harry had never been given. He remembered watching as Dudley consumed enough food to make him sick, leaving Harry with meagre portions of his own, his aunt and uncle all but daring him to ask for more.

In contrast to Dudley's pampered upbringing, Harry was ignored, or worse, blamed for things that couldn't possibly have been his fault. How could he have been responsible for his own hair regrowing overnight, after a particularly awful haircut? Or Uncle Vernon's car tyres mysteriously disappearing in the night, after he had screamed himself hoarse at Harry for breaking a glass on accident?

He hated it when his uncle yelled at him, but even when he did his absolute best to follow the house rules, Uncle Vernon always found things that were definitely his fault—even if they definitely weren't.

Harry learned quickly to make himself invisible. If he was not seen, Dudley wouldn't practice his punching on him, and Uncle Vernon wouldn't yell at him. Not that it did any good, anything that went wrong was always his fault.

Of course, his pleas fell on deaf ears, and he would be shoved into his cupboard and locked in. In the dark and quiet he tried to reassure himself that things would get better one day, but how could it? The Dursleys were his only family, and there was nowhere else he could go. Some nights this was easier to accept than other, like when he had gone to bed of his own accord, instead of being unceremoniously locked in after daring to cry for allowing himself to fall and get hurt. Harry would hug his pillow those nights, muffling the sound of his tears with the thin cotton while whispering, “it's okay Harry,” until he fell asleep.

It may have been easier for Harry to cope with if he had some sort of thing to look forward to. But while he knew that Dudley was going to Primary School come September, there had been no mention of such plans for Harry. He wondered if they planned to send him to school at all. As the summer passed, his aunt and uncle had become curiously tense, though they did not punish him any more or less than usual. He often heard them hissing at night in panicked whispers the more the season progressed, and they became gradually more hysterical, going so far as to snap at Dudley one morning—closely followed by vomit-inducing apologies from Aunt Petunia. While the whole thing made Harry wonder, he knew better than to ask.

 

~*~

 

Harry woke one bright August morning, three days after his fifth birthday, and at first, he was not entirely certain what had woken him. A moment later this unspoken question was answered for him when he heard a sharp rapping on his cupboard door. He still had a bitter taste in his mouth, remembering his so-called birthday gift—a paperclip and some string—but he knew better than to ask why. He was his aunt's sister's son, and Aunt Petunia made no effort to conceal her absolute hatred for her late sister.

“Up, up!” Aunt Petunia shrieked from the other side of the door. “Get up, _now!_ ”

“Yes Aunt Petunia,” he said groggily while he put on his round sellotaped glasses and fished out some clean clothes—three sizes too big—and clambered out into the hall. He was still rubbing sleep from his eyes and it did not immediately register that Aunt Petunia was still outside his cupboard door, hands on her hips and white apron layered over her light blue dress. He looked up at her in confusion, but he found his voice to be caught in his throat. What could he have done now? He only just woke up!

“Get your things,” she said stiffly, as though the slightly softened tone that she suddenly spoke to him with was physically painful to her. “You're leaving today to spend some time with your—your g _odfather._ ”

“I—what? I have a godfather?” Harry blinked in surprise, certain for a moment that he had misheard her.

“ _Get your things_ ,” she snapped angrily, and Harry flinched. “They will be here in two hours to collect you.” She spun and stalked off without another word, and while her silent refusal to answer him wasn't unexpected, it was still frustrating. He stepped back into his cupboard, leaned over to pull his patched rucksack out from under the camp bed.

It didn't take long to pack. He shoved an armful of clothes into the bag, then after making sure his aunt was nowhere to be seen, he lifted up the thin mattress and pulled out his most prized possession. He slipped it into his bag.

Uncertain what to do with the packed bag, he set it on top of the bed and stepped out of his cupboard to head to the kitchen for breakfast. He was not surprised when no one acknowledged his presence, and he picked at his toast silently. He desperately wanted to ask a million questions: Who was this godfather? Why was he only finding out now? What was going  _on_ ? Why did Aunt Petunia say  _they_ ? Was someone else coming with him? But Harry knew what the answer would be. “ _Don't ask questions_ .” He didn't want to be yelled at again, and resigned himself to two hours of painfully frustrating silence.

 

Of course, the idea of  _time_ away from the Dursleys was an exciting prospect. Maybe this godfather would even let him sleep in a real room, or, dare he wish, get to wear something other than oversized hand-me-downs. Harry shivered at the thought, and wondered if he was getting too greedy with such a thought. Jumbled in with his excitement was also a number nervous worries—Harry had heard of children who were hit by grownups. While it had never happened to him, what if this godfather turned out to dislike him even more than the Dursleys did? The thought overshadowed his excitement, and he felt his stomach tie up in knots.

Harry slipped away quietly after breakfast and sat in his cupboard. He picked at the loose threads on his jeans nervously. He didn't have a clock or watch, and two hours seemed like a  _really long time_ . He knew it was longer than a quarter of an hour, at least. He tried to count the minutes, but he kept getting distracted by the same questions fluttering through his brain. Who was this godfather? Would he be nice, or mean? Harry's emotions were so mixed up, he felt like he might be sick.

Distantly, Harry heard a sharp knock at the door, and caught sight of Aunt Petunia racing up to the second level with Dudley, as though the house was suddenly under attack.

Uncle Vernon lumbered to the door, and while Harry couldn't make out the words, he heard two polite voices answer his uncle's curt one.

Harry hadn't been properly paying attention however, and jumped when his uncle suddenly yelled, “boy, get out here!” Harry swallowed thickly, took a breath to try and steady himself, and he slung the light bag over his shoulders. He stepped out of his cupboard, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

Harry shuffled towards the door, but didn't dare slow his pace. He stopped just behind his uncle, and peered around him to the two strangers that stood there, and Harry's eyes widened in surprise. There were two men standing there, both with open, kind smiles on their faces. His uncle appeared distinctly irritated about something, but whatever it was, he didn't say.

One of the men, the one with shoulder-length dark hair spoke, and his voice as nice-sounding to Harry as his face was kind.

“Hello, Harry,” he said, “my name is Sirius. I'm your godfather.” His voice shook a little at the end, and that surprised Harry. He'd never seen a grownup nervous before. Harry was still in a state of shock, and he couldn't find his voice straightaway. “This is my—friend, Remus. Your uncle is letting you stay with us for a little while, and we have a room all set up for you. Would you like that?”

A million questions exploded in his mind like a crate of fireworks.

“I have a room?” was the first thing Harry blurted out, while he stepped out from behind his uncle and moving forward. His eyes were wide with shock, and also nervous kind of happiness. The man's smile faltered and he glanced over to his uncle, who seemed to quail under the man's gaze, but held his ground at the same time; it was a strange thing to see. The man but didn't say anything, and refocused his attention on Harry.

“I—I mean, yes,” Harry tried again, vaguely remember that the man—Sirius, had asked him a question. “That'd be nice.” His words stumbled out of his mouth in a rush, and his emotions felt as jumbled as his words had been. He was nervous, wondering what was to come, excited at the prospect of having his own _room_ , and almost dizzying joy at the idea of getting away from his relatives, even if it was only for a little while.

“Get on with it, I haven't got all day.” Uncle Vernon snapped, making Harry jump. He had almost forgotten that his uncle was there. Sirius extended a hand and Harry stepped forward to take it. Sirius gave his uncle one last nasty look, and led Harry outside.

It was a strange experience for Harry, he couldn't recall an adult ever holding his hand before, and gently leading him somewhere instead of shoving. He wanted to ask the man more questions, who he was, where were they going,  _what_ was going on, but he was afraid, too. He noticed that once out of sight of his aunt and uncle's house, he took the other man—Remus's hand, lacing their fingers together in the way he'd seen mothers and fathers do. He didn't know exactly why, but the gesture made Harry feel warm in his stomach.

They continued to walk until they reached a bicycle path a few blocks from Number Four. Sirius led Harry down to the middle of the path, which was bordered on either side by high, thick hedges. He let go of his hand and reached into his pocket and pulled something out. It was a key on a string, and he held it out within Harry's reach.

“On the count of three Harry, I want you to grab hold of this, all right? It will be uncomfortable, but I promise nothing bad will happen,” said Sirius seriously. Harry could hardly explain it, he'd known this man for less than half an hour, but he could feel that he was telling the truth. Harry felt his stomach begin to untie itself, and a warmth he couldn't explain began to swell in his stomach.

“'Kay,” he said, while the other man had reached out and grasped hold of the string too.

“One, two, three—” as he said three, Harry reached out and grasped the string, having just enough time to gasp in shock, before he felt a sensation like a hook behind his navel tug him forward.

The next thing he knew, he was falling down onto a cobblestone street. He looked around, his eyes wide. He was somewhere else entirely! He was fairly certain that they were still in England, but he knew they had somehow  _moved_ .

The place he found himself in was some sort of strange combination of old fashioned and modern buildings, houses, and shops. Before he had a chance to really absorb what had happened, he felt himself being fulled to his feet. Harry looked up, still slightly dazed, to see Sirius's hand on his upper arm, but the hold was gentle, and not painful. “Sorry Harry, taking a Portkey for the first time can be a little disorienting. Are you all right?”

At first, Harry didn't know how to answer. He could hear the question, understood what was being asked of him, but it was the way Sirius looked at him. Concern. Worry. It was strange to see, and for a moment the look itself overwhelmed him. Harry shook his head and looked back up to see that Sirius was still watching him.

“I'm okay,” he said quietly, feeling genuinely conflicted about how he could readily trust a man who was practically a stranger, even if he was supposed to be his godfather.

“Come on,” Sirius said, pulling him from his thoughts, “let's go inside.” He took Harry's hand again, and led him up the staircase of a building directly in front of them, and used the same key to let themselves in. The other man walked with them silently, but he was watching Sirius with a small smile on his face. It looked like he was proud of Sirius for something, but Sirius hadn't exactly done anything special, had he? Harry didn't know what to make of it.

After walking up four flights of stairs with the two men, they stopped outside a highly polished wooden door with a brass '7' on the outside. Harry heard a soft tap, but couldn't see what they were doing. The door swung open and Harry stepped in behind them, unable to stifle the soft gasp that escaped him when he crossed the threshold.

It was much smaller than the house at Privet Drive, and messier. There was a small, cramped sitting room with two mismatched armchairs and a sofa around a low table that faced a fireplace. Connected to it was a small kitchen, with a rectangular wooden table and a number of things hanging from the ceiling—herbs, garlic, meat— and directly to Harry's left was a long hallway where he could see a number of closed doors. The floors appeared to be made of some kind of stone, and they had been covered by a number of rugs in varying stages of shabbiness, and none of them seemed to fit together. Some were woven with green and brown, others were made of some kind of fur, and others still looked like they had been knitted, and covered with intricate designs.

The walls held a few photographs—at least, Harry  _thought_ they were photographs—did that lady just wave at him? The walls had light brown wood panelling, and the the upper half of the walls were covered in a deep maroon wallpaper. Harry thought it felt more like a little cottage than a flat.

There was no other word for it: it was cozy. Harry couldn't wipe the smile off his face, and looked up at Sirius, who had been watching him with a strange look of worry.

“I really get to stay here?” he asked, unable to completely quell his excitement.

Sirius's face broke out into a smile, and Harry saw his shoulders sag a little. “Come on my lad, let's show you your room.”

 

_His room._ Harry liked the sound of that.

 

Sirius rested a hand on Harry's shoulder and steered him down the hall. It felt different than how Uncle Vernon would do it; Uncle Vernon would grab him so roughly that his knees would almost buckle, then all but shove him forward. This was gentler, and allowed Harry to walk at his own pace, with Sirius merely guiding him in the right direction.

They stopped outside the second door in the hall. It was made of the same polished wood as the front door, and the other man, Remus, leant forward to turned the knob. Sirius let go of Harry's shoulder, and with a feeling of mild nervousness, he stepped inside.

Harry's mind had gone blank with shock.

He stood in a bedroom, a  _real bedroom._ There was a bed with blue sheets and a headboard made of some kind of pale wood, a nightstand with what looked like an oil lamp, as well as a desk and wardrobe made of the same material. The walls were light blue, and there was a window that looked out on the street below, for the moment obscured by a set of white curtains. Harry had no idea where his voice went; he didn't know what to say or how to express what he was feeling. His feet shuffled over the plush carpets and reached out to touch the wood of the headboard, wondering if he was dreaming. It felt real.

There was a soft chuckle behind him, and he turned to see the pair smiling at him. “I take it you like it, then?” Harry nodded. He wanted to thank him, or cry, though for once not because he was sad. But for some reason he felt like he couldn't talk. Sirius seemed to understand though.

Sirius showed Harry the rest of the flat, where his and Remus's room was, as well as the toilet. Harry was still reeling from everything that had happened, especially after Sirius had opened the wardrobe to show him that it was filled with clothes for him, in  _his_ size. Some were normal things, like T-shirts, jeans, and pyjamas, but there were also strange garments that almost looked like dresses. In the meantime Remus had wandered off, though Harry was too overwhelmed to pay much mind to it.

“It's not much,” Sirius said after the small tour, “but this is your home too, Harry. We are thrilled that you're here.” His godfather smiled at him, and gripped his shoulder again. “Why don't you go and try on some of your new clothes, then come out to the kitchen for something to eat, all right? We have some—er—stuff to talk about with you.”

“All right,” he said, still slightly in a daze. He felt as though he had been picked up and tossed about by a whirlwind. It wasn't the sequence of events that made him dizzy, but what Sirius had said. _We are thrilled that you're here_. Harry hoped that he meant it. Sirius gave him one last smile and walked off, and Harry headed to his room. It still sounded strange to him, the idea of having his own room. The morning with his godfather had been _wonderful_ , but it still didn't feel entirely real.

Harry shuffled through the clothes in his new wardrobe nervously. It still felt a little strange, even after his godfather had said it was for him, it almost didn't feel like it. He eyed the strange dresses for a moment. Did Sirius have a niece or something? He ran his fingers over the fabric to find that some were made of some heavy material, while others were thin and very soft. He shook himself out of his daze, and selected a red T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

It still was amazing to Harry that the clothes  _fit_ . He didn't have to roll up the trouser cuffs five times to keep from tripping over his own feet, and the shirt was fitted, but not too tight. He looked down at himself, hardly daring to believe that Sirius had bought things for him, someone he barely knew. Why would Sirius bother to do that? Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia knew Harry particularly well, and had never bought him a thing. It made Harry feel strange, and not for the first time he wondered if this was some sort of hyper-realistic dream.

Remembering that he couldn't stand around staring at his clothes all day, Harry forced himself to walk out of his room—was it really his?—and he made his way towards the kitchen.

Harry was a little nervous; he knew that when grownups wanted to  _talk_ it was never a good thing. It meant someone was in the hospital, or in trouble, or something just as bad. He had heard his uncle talk to Dudley about things like that, in gentle tones he had never used with Harry.

When Harry entered the kitchen, he saw Sirius leaning against a wooden table with his arms crossed, and Remus carrying a large plate of sandwiches from the kitchen counter to the table, where three plates and two jugs sat. He chewed at the inside of his lip nervously, uncertain how to make his presence known.

“Harry!” Sirius cried a second later when he noticed him standing uncertainly in the doorway, “come on in. No need to look so nervous, everything's fine.” Something in the way Sirius didn't meet his eyes told Harry that something was most likely _not_ fine.

He stepped over the threshold as the two men sat down at the little table, and Harry climbed into the third chair. Sirius stacked two sandwiches on his plate, and filled his glass with milk. Harry watched quietly as the two adults served themselves, pouring an amber, foamy drink into their own glasses. Harry thought that it might be beer with the way it foamed, but the smell was sweeter somehow, like caramel and barley.

“Tuck in, Harry. They don't bite back.” Sirius laughed at himself, while Remus rolled his eyes. Harry bit into the sandwich, ham and cheese, and eyed the adults nervously. They had said they needed to talk to him, but so far they seemed more focused on their food and drink. Harry hadn't realized how famished he actually was, and was already on the second sandwich on the plate before either of them spoke.

“Harry,” Remus said gently after a moment, while Sirius looked at him with a strange, sad expression. “We wanted to talk to you about a few things, in particular why you're here instead of with your aunt and uncle.” He paused, and Harry felt his stomach clench with worry. Suddenly, he didn't feel so hungry.

“When you were a baby, you were left with your relatives by a man named Albus Dumbledore. He felt that that was the safest place for you.” Harry frowned a little at that, but reigned in his urge to ask questions as he waited for Remus continue. “But your relatives weren't—er—keen on taking you in, and they decided to ask the Ministry of Ma—er, the government to find you an, erm, friend of sorts.” Harry blinked. Since when did the Dursleys care whether or not if Harry had friends?

“What that means,” Sirius added, though his voice was harsher than it had been before, “is that they wanted to find you someone for you to be very close with, and when you get older, live together.”

“Like you an' Remus?”

“Exactly.” Sirius seemed to relax a little, but his face still looked sad to Harry. “This friend is someone we're taking you to meet soon, so you can get to know them.”

“What if we don't get on?” Harry asked nervously, and his voice suddenly sounded very small in his ears.

“Let's wait and see before we worry about that,” Sirius said while he offered him a small smile, “his name is Draco Malfoy, and he's from a very different kind of family.” Remus snorted as though something was funny, but Harry didn't understand what Sirius meant. Apparently sensing his confusion, Sirius elaborated, “for one, they're very rich. For two, they have very strong feelings about people who don't live like them. They think certain ways of living are wrong, and they don't agree with interacting with certain kinds of people.”

Harry frowned, and tried to wrap his head around what he was being told. “Like nancy boys?” he asked, making both men start a little. “I heard Uncle Vernon talk about them before, how they're wrong, or bad, or something. Is it like that?”

Sirius suddenly looked very sad, though Harry couldn't figure out exactly why.

“Yes, something like that,” Sirius replied at last, “the Malfoy family feels very strongly about people like—well, like your mother.” Sirius was almost whispering by the end, and Harry almost dropped the bit of sandwich in his hand.

“My mum? But...why? And if they don't like people like her, why do they want _me_ to be friends with their son?”

“It's complicated, Harry,” Remus said, and Harry frowned. He hated it when grownups said that. “When your uncle asked us to do this, the government picks your—er, friend. Once they're selected, there's no way to change it. So the Malfoy family has to learn to be more accepting.” Sirius's cheek twitched a little, as though he wanted to smile, but it didn't look like a happy expression to Harry at all.

“But why don't they like my mum?” Harry felt suddenly like he had eaten something alive and wiggly. He didn't like the feeling.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look. Both of them looked very serious all of a sudden, and it didn't make Harry feel any better. After a few moments of silence, Sirius turned back to Harry, who had been picking at the crust of his sandwich absentmindedly.

“You mother was a witch,” Sirius said, then paused, while Harry blinked in confusion. Instantly, his head was filled with images of an old crone with warts and a black cat. “Your mother was born to a family of non-magic people,” he continued, though he no longer looked happy. “We call them muggles.” He paused, watching Harry with a strange look in his eyes, like he was scared. “Your mother was what's called a muggleborn. Your father was a wizard.”

“I—but—what...” It was too much. Was Sirius really saying what he thought he was saying?

“That means you, Harry, are a wizard too.” Remus said, smiling at him in a quiet, peaceful sort of way. While Sirius looked very anxious, Remus seemed very calm by comparison. The conflicting personalities made it hard for Harry to digest what he was being told.

“I'm a _what?_ But, how can I be? How come no one ever _told_ me?” The questions tumbled out of him one after the other in a rush. Harry was feeling very strange, as though he was being pulled apart inside.

“Your aunt and uncle are afraid of people like us—wizards. I don't know why they didn't tell you, but I can assure you that you are most definitely a wizard,” Remus said while he smiled kindly, but Harry looked down at his hands. Could it be true? It felt real, but at the same time, how could it be?

“Harry?” Sirius asked, and Harry looked up to see that the pair were watching him worriedly. “Are you all right?”

“I...this doesn't seem real. I thought wizards and—and things were pretend.” He trailed off, looking back to his hands. He pulled his legs up onto the chair and folded them under him. He heard Sirius chuckle and he looked back up to see him drawing a narrow piece of wood out of his pocket— _a wand_.

Harry gaped as he flicked it at the platter that held the leftover sandwiches, and suddenly it was lifted up on two narrow pieces of metal, and two more narrow bits of metal grew out on either side of it. It took Harry a moment to realize that the platter suddenly had little arms and legs, as it crab-walked across the table towards him, reached up, and handed him one of the sandwiches. Still staring at the platter, gawking at it with his mouth hanging open, Harry accepted the sandwich and watched as it settled back down on the table, the arms and legs disappearing.

Harry didn't eat the food that had been handed to him, but instead set it down on his plate. He felt overwhelmed, and definitely not hungry.

“If my mum and dad were both wizards, and you say I am too, why wouldn't this family like me?” Harry asked quietly. He wasn't used to asking questions and not being yelled at for it. What if he said the wrong thing and they sent him back to his aunt and uncle?

Sirius didn't answer right away, and instead glanced towards Remus, who nodded slightly. “Because of your mother's family, the Malfoys don't see her as a real witch. They see you as what's called a half-blood, meaning half magical, and half not.”

“That's stupid,” Harry grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Yes Harry,” Sirius said with a laugh, “it is.”

 


	4. Boys Will Be Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Storybook excerpt from The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairlystupid Tales by Jon Scieszka & Lane Smith(Aka best storybook ever). I'm not 100% certain if they have this book in the UK, but it was the only storybook I happened to have on hand.

Chapter 4 – Boys Will Be Boys

 

Sirius had not known what to expect when he met his godson, but as he bid the boy goodnight that evening, he felt a tendril of anguish encase his heart.

The emotional abuse he had no doubt endured at the hands of his blood relatives had been apparent in his every movement, gesture, and word. He was strangely articulate for such a young child, and Sirius did not fail to notice how he would curl up, or fold his knees under him when their conversations grew tense, as though he was trying to make himself as physically small as possible. Every time that it happened, it gave Sirius a strong urge to break something.

But at the same time, he was overwhelmed with something akin to joy. He was such a little boy with such strength that he probably didn't know that he had. Little Harry had spent four years with people who made no secret of their dislike for him. They had hurt him, they had ostracized him, and they had utterly neglected him. Harry could have grown up bitter and distrustful, but instead he was a shy but polite little boy, and eager to accept attentions from anyone who offered it to him. Knowing a little about how the world worked, Sirius was well-aware that that could be a blessing as well as a curse.

 

After they sent Harry to bed that evening, Sirius had all but collapsed into the plush cushions of the sofa. He massaged his temples while he tried to work out his tangle of thoughts. He looked up when he felt a glass being pressed into his hand, and opened his eyes to see a small measure of Ogden's Old Firewhisky in a fingermarked glass. Remus sat down next to him, but didn't speak. The look on his face told Sirius that he, too, had not been ignorant to Harry's physical and emotional reactions over the course of the day.

The slow burn of the alcohol was a welcome distraction while he watched the crackling and jumping flames in the hearth.

“I'm not sure I can do this Remus,” Sirius said at last, “that boy is so...” he trailed off. Sirius kept his voice low to make sure Harry didn't overhear him, though he had no idea how to finish the thought.

“Damaged,” Remus finished for him. His voice was tense with anger, his gaze never leaving the fire. “It will be some time before Harry feels comfortable here. Until then, we should be cautious about how we speak around him. It's clear that he was not treated kindly by those...people. To not even tell him that he's a wizard—” Remus cut himself off with something close to a growl, and gave his head a small shake.

“And we're expected to hand him _back_ to them? I don't know if I can do that,” Sirius said. Remus smiled bitterly to his words, but didn't answer.

The pair sat in silence, and the firewhisky did help release some of Sirius's tension. Despite his concern over Harry's welfare over the past four years, he had never been a parent, and now he was expected to take a five-year-old boy with all the hallmarks of neglect and abuse and somehow help him see that the world was not such a dark, scary place. Sirius had no idea if he was strong enough to do that. Nor did he wholly believe that sentiment. The world wasn't a safe place. This he knew unequivocally.

“There's little we can do about his relatives,” Remus said after a pause, his hand extending to Sirius's, and they laced their fingers together. “I worry that any intervention on our part might make things worse for Harry, not better.” He punctuated his words with another sip from his glass, his eyes never leaving the fireplace, “but we can make things good for him here. He'll know that whatever happens—” Remus broke off abruptly, and turned his head. Though it had been relatively quiet since they had settled down, suddenly there was a soft noise permeating the stillness of the evening.

“Do you hear that?” Sirius asked, shifting his gaze towards its source, the hallway to the bedrooms. His eyebrows knitted together as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. It sounded like a hissing, a whisper so faint the words blurred together into a singular sound.

“Sounds like Harry's talking to someone,” Remus said. They exchanged a worried look, stood in one fluid motion, and tiptoed towards Harry's room. The door had not been fully closed, and the pair leant forward to peer inside.

Harry was in bed, on his stomach, and propped up slightly on his elbows. His legs were bent at the knee, and they swung back and forth minutely in midair. He was reading aloud from a picture book, in a tone barely above a whisper.

“ _Once upon a time there was a little old woman and a little old man who lived together in a little old house. They were lonely. So the little old lady decided to make a man out of stinky cheese...”_ the pair watched in quiet wonder as Harry read out the entire story to himself, pausing occasionally to quiver in silent laughter. When he finished, he closed up the book and smoothed his hand across the cover in a motion that Sirius could only describe as a loving caress. They continued to watch as Harry slipped the book back into his rucksack and tucked it under the bed.

“Goodnight Harry,” he whispered to himself, and he turned down the lamp. Harry rolled over, and pulled up the covers to his chin.

Remus and Sirius exchanged a mournful look, and walked quietly back to the sitting room. Remus's eyes were a little glassy, and Sirius felt as though his throat had sealed itself. They sat down on the sofa, and Sirius reached out to clasp one of Remus's hands, desperate for some form of comfort.

“I don't know about you,” Sirius said after a brief moment of silence, while Remus traced lazy circles on his bonded's palm, “but that looked to me like Harry was reading himself a bedtime story.”

“That was highly advanced reading for someone his age,” Remus said, his voice cracking slightly. “I have a feeling his... _relatives_ felt all too happy to exclude him from that particular bedtime ritual.” Sirius raked his free hand through his hair.

“I'm starting to wonder if he has _any_ happy memories from that house...” Sirius muttered, “I don't know if I can do this...” He followed the repeated words by leaning back against the cushions, and stared up at the blank ceiling. It was almost impossible to reign in the burning desire to Apparate to Surrey and do some _real_ damage to those muggles.

“You have to, Sirius,” Remus said softly, but firmly while he squeezed Sirius's hand reassuringly. “Harry has a very uncertain future ahead of him, and _we_ need to show him that he's wanted and loved.”

“He _is_ wanted and loved, Remus.”

“ _Harry_ doesn't know that. He has grown up being regarded as a burden. We need to show him that we mean what we say when we tell him that we genuinely want him here.” Sirius turned his head to gaze at Remus. The man carried his familiar look of peaceful calm, as well as absolute belief in his words.

“I just hope he'll still trust us after The First Meeting.”

 

~*~

 

Watching Harry over the following weeks had been like watching a flower open.

At first, he and Remus were extremely cautious to keep their emotions in check around Harry. They took him to muggle parks and shops—steering clear of Wizarding establishments where they could—they were well aware that sudden attention from a bunch of strangers would completely overwhelm him, not to mention that on Dumbledore's orders, they hadn't told him about his encounter with Voldemort some four years previously.

During these outings, they did not fail to notice how Harry would flinch if another child came running at him on the playground, or how a sudden loud noise would make him jump.

The reactions were so small they were hardly noticeable unless you were looking for them. Sirius was genuinely disturbed by the boy's defence mechanisms for coping with his emotional triggers—there were almost none. The boy had absolutely no way to reassure himself when something happened, and often it seemed as though he would shut down until the upsetting moment had passed.  _Disassociation_ , Remus had called it.

It hurt Sirius deeply that a child so young had been exposed to Merlin knows what at the hands of those muggles, causing him to become so fragile. No matter how bothered he was by this, he was careful to keep his face relaxed and open when he was with Harry. In the evenings, he and Remus would let the masks fall, and they discussed whether it was worth sending an owl to Albus regarding what they had seen.

So far, they hadn't.

Every evening, Sirius could hear Harry reading to himself from the same book. It was the same stories over and over, though never loudly enough to disturb anyone. He wanted to confront Harry in some way about it, but he had no idea how to say it without it sounding like he had been spying on the boy. He never vocalized this worry to Remus, but it was apparent that he, too, had not failed to notice Harry's bedtime routine.

Remus left Sirius alone with Harry in the second week, but Sirius was uncertain how to break to the boy Remus's _furry little problem_ . Of course, Harry still thought very much like a muggle, so there was every chance that he wouldn't believe him.

Instead, he stretched the truth somewhat, and had told Harry that Remus had gone to visit family, which wasn't a lie, exactly. Harry accepted this excuse without any questions, though when Remus returned a few days later, his robes ragged and looking as though he hadn't slept since his departure Harry eyed him curiously, but never actually asked either of them about it.

By the beginning of the fourth week, Sirius watched an extraordinary change come over Harry. His smiles came more easily, his laughter did not sound muted, and slowly he relaxed around the pair. Harry's trust that he and Remus would not harm or demean him in any way had started to be a reality for him, and he began to willingly ask for second and third helpings at meals without he or Remus prompting him, he ran and played with muggle children, and Sirius watched him giggle with delight in the evenings as Remus charmed the fire to take different shapes and colours, from flaming dogs that scampered around him to bright blue birds made entirely of fire.

Despite the drastic change in his godson's behaviour, Sirius struggled to keep his worries in check. True to Albus's desire that Harry be shielded from the Wizarding World at large, they kept what they told him to a bare minimum. Hundreds of worst-case scenarios of the celebration, so to speak, with the Malfoys chased each other around in his head. Despite Remus's reassurances, Sirius had a hard time believing that everything would be all right.

The night before the dreaded day, Sirius exchanged a significant look with Remus as they sat down with Harry at the table for dinner.

“Harry,” Sirius said, his voice coming out a little more hoarsely than he intended. The boy's head snapped up from his food, and he looked at his godfather curiously. “Tomorrow is the—er, _meeting_ with Draco Malfoy. You're going to have to wear wizard robes for the occasion, we'd rather not give Lucius—Mr Malfoy, more reason to kick up a fuss about this.”

Harry glowered at his plate and prodded at the chunks of potato in his stew.

“I don't like them,” Harry replied sullenly, “I feel like I'm in a dress.”

Sirius saw Remus out of the corner of his eye stifle an amused smile. This wasn't the first time they had tried to get Harry to wear his wizard's robes, but his muggle upbringing got in the way of realizing that there was nothing inherently feminine about the garments in his wardrobe.

“You can wear your jeans under them, and every one else will be wearing robes as well, it won't be just you.” In an effort to get Harry used to the concept of normal wizardwear, Sirius and Remus had foregone their muggle-style clothes and wore only robes at home, or whenever they were with Harry. It did help slightly, but they didn't fail to notice that when Harry put them on he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“It's only for a couple of hours, Harry,” Remus said gently. Sirius relaxed a little as he watched the little boy nod, though the dark look never completely faded from his eyes.

 

The following day, Sirius and Remus donned their best robes and went to rouse Harry. Though he wasn't normally one to complain, it did take an inordinate amount of coaxing to get him to put on the dark green dress robes. He sulked through breakfast, while he and Remus resisted the urge to get him to talk with them. It was best, Sirius thought, to keep the boy from getting even crankier.

At 11 o'clock, the trio took a Portkey to a small cluster of trees on the edge of a forest. With Harry between them shuffling his feet a little, his apparent nervousness making him even more quiet than usual, they led him up the street towards the Malfoy Manor. Sirius and Remus glanced at each other more than once, but Remus's reassuring looks did little to calm Sirius's frazzled nerves.

When they turned up the street and the first glimpse of the manor came into view, Sirius heard Harry gasp. He looked down, his mouth twitching in the corners with amusement to see that Harry's eyes were wide and round behind his recently mended glasses, and his mouth had dropped open in shock. He looked up to Remus, then to Sirius, clearly unable to believe his eyes.

“They live _there_?” Harry asked, his tone almost breathless as he tried to work through his shock.

Remus chuckled a little, but Sirius wasn't entirely sure how to answer him. He had a feeling, ' _Yes they do Harry, but they're still evil gits_ ,' probably wasn't a good idea. Harry's pace slowed slightly as they approached the gates, and he stumbled a little over the hem of his robes as he was gently nudged up the cobbled path.

The manor had changed very little since the last time Sirius had seen it. The flutterby bushes that had bordered the walkway had been replaced by skullcap, St. John's wort, and hyssop. Sirius also noted the ostentatious animals he remembered were nowhere to be seen. Aside from that, it was the same tall, imposing estate it had always been. When they had almost reached the door, it swung open to reveal Lucius waiting for them, and immediately Sirius felt a little hand grip tightly to his own, and he squeezed Harry's hand back in an attempt to reassure him.

Lucius hadn't changed. His long platinum hair had been tied at the nape of his neck with black cord, and he wore long sweeping robes of black with silver piping. He regarded them with a look of deep disgust that he did not bother even attempting to conceal. Sirius noted the way Lucius's cold grey eyes shifted immediately to Harry, and he did not miss the minute flick of his eyes as it raked the boy's hairline, staring intently at the lightning bolt-shaped scar. Under Lucius's cold gaze, Sirius couldn't help but notice Harry's knee-jerk reaction of scuffling back half a step.

“Mr Potter,” Lucius said in a tone that balanced precariously between cool politeness and disdain, “welcome to our home. Please, come in.” The man's eye twitched as though the words had inflicted him physical pain, and he turned and swept inside while Sirius and Remus led a reluctant Harry in behind him.

Sirius watched Harry out of the corner of his eye as they walked, his head whipping back and forth in a flurry of untidy black hair as he tried to look at everything all at once. His mouth was still gaping slightly in shock as he tried to absorb what he was seeing.

“Come along,” Lucius said in the same tone, “we will be _celebrating_ , as it were, in the garden.” Sirius felt Harry's hand tighten in his own again, and he did not need to look down to see the boy's fear. He all but felt it.

Lucius led the trio through the manor, weaving through halls and rooms, until he reached a large door that looked out onto the back garden. There was a large, curved patio of concrete and marble, with white tables piled high with elegant dishes, most of which Sirius couldn't name, much less pronounce. A handful of wizards and witches milled around, flutes of champagne or glasses of wine in their hands, with waiters Apparating through the crowd, offering hors d'oeuvres and other small tidbits to the guests. Beyond the patio were long, sweeping lawns of green grass, bordered at the edge by a dense forest.

Despite Sirius's insistence that the number of wizards present remain small, he worried. The First Meeting was supposed to be a public celebration, and given the Malfoys' considerable influence at the Ministry, it could have been much worse. Sirius let go of Harry's hand with some difficulty, it was like a tiny vice grip, and he knelt next to him while Lucius slipped outside without so much as a backward glance.

“Harry,” Sirius prompted, drawing the little boy out of his daze, “do you remember what we talked about earlier this week?”

He nodded stiffly. “I wait here,” he said, though his voice quivered a little, “and when I hear my name, I come out, and go to Draco. We greet each other, then bow to the guests.”

His words left out some of the finer details, but was in essence, correct. Sirius smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way, and squeezed his shoulder.

“You'll do fine, don't worry. I'll see you in a moment.” Sirius stood up and walked outside with Remus, forcing himself to keep from looking back—he didn't want Harry to know that he was likely as nervous about this as he was.

The couple strode out hand in hand to stand next to the Malfoys, while Lucius set off a few gaudy silver and gold fireworks from his wand to call attention to the crowd.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began, his gaze shifting from person to person, wearing a small smile as though he had no greater delight than addressing these people. “It is my great honour to welcome you to The First Meeting of our sons.” Scattered polite applause followed these words, “we do hope that you will join us in wishing blessings upon their bright future together on this beautiful Mabon afternoon. Now please join me in welcoming my son, Draco Malfoy, and the godson to Sirius Black, Harry Potter.”

Sirius tensed a little as he heard a few soft gasps and fervid whispers follow those words. No doubt this would get back to the  _Prophet_ before long. He struggled to keep it from distracting him as two doors at either end of the patio opened the moment Lucius had said their names, to reveal the boys.

Sirius felt it was like watching the sun and the moon greet each other. Harry in dark colours, and Draco in some sort of silvery-white robe that seemed to glimmer when the light caught it. Both boys eyed each other nervously, but strode across the patio towards each other with purpose. The moment they reached each other, Harry and Draco lifted their right hands and placed their palms flat over their hearts, and bowed low. The audience watched in rapt silence as the boys let their arms fall, and Draco stepped forward, took Harry's hand and kissed the back of it, Harry mirroring his actions immediately after. They then joined hands and bowed to the assembled guests, then walked down from the patio to polite applause.

The pair stopped before their parents, and Lucius smiled politely, “welcome, Harry.” He bowed to him, and Narcissa followed suit.

“Welcome, Draco,” Sirius said, mimicking Lucius's feigned politeness as he bowed, and Remus did the same next to him. There was more scattered applause, then the crowd slowly dispersed and the soft babble of conversation returned. Harry was still glancing around with wide-eyed wonder, while Draco was staring at the ground and kicking up grass with the tip of his shoe. The boys had let go of each other's hands, but were still standing in front of the adults as though they had no idea what was supposed to happen next.

“Come along,” Lucius said suddenly, resting a hand on Draco's shoulder, “we'll get you two something to eat and you can get acquainted.” He steered him towards the table, bowing low to speak to his son, quietly enough that Sirius couldn't overhear. The younger Malfoy glowered at his father, but didn't verbally respond to whatever he was being told. 

Sirius trailed behind Lucius with Harry, and struggled to keep his eyes off the guests that milled around him. Remus had hung back to speak with Narcissa, though for all his efforts, it was difficult to  _not_ notice the sorts of guests Lucius had chosen to invite.

Igor Karkaroff was standing and speaking animatedly with Ludovic Bagman next to a garish swan ice sculpture, Cornelius Fudge was accepting a glass of wine from one of the waiters, and Walden MacNair was leaning close to one of the waitresses, who looked deeply uncomfortable. Countless nameless faces that Sirius recognized as Ministry higher-ups or Death Eaters that had claimed innocence, and, of course, he spotted Rita Skeeter standing a little apart from the festivities, her acid green quill zipping across the parchment before her in a blur.

In the distance, partially hidden in the shadows, Sirius recognized Severus Snape with a surge of hatred and memory.  _Slimy git_ , Sirius thought, gritting his teeth. Below him he heard a soft pained gasp, and he realized that he was gripping Harry's shoulder so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. He let go at once, “sorry Harry,” he murmured apologetically.

Despite the brave face Harry had put on, Sirius could tell that he felt completely out of his depth. Sirius loaded the boy's plate with foods that weren't too exotic—mild cheeses, fruits, and roasted meat. He nudged him towards a small round table to sit with Draco Malfoy, alone.

He and Lucius hung back, keeping a close eye on the boys, while they accepted congratulations from various guests that approached them. Sirius took hands and forced his face into a smile, as though he was genuinely pleased by the proceedings. It was supposed to be a celebration, after all.

Finally, Sirius was able to break away from Lucius and he sought out Remus, who had retreated to the edge of the party. His eyes were focused on Harry, his expression frozen in a fixed smile. Though it was just as forced as Sirius's had been, it seemed slightly more genuine on Remus's face.

“Kill me now,” he muttered as he sidled up to his bonded, passing a glass of wine to him, which Remus accepted readily as he chuckled slightly to Sirius's words.

“Harry looks like he's having a ball,” Remus observed with dry sarcasm, and Sirius turned to look, his mouth twitching in a small smile. It appeared as though neither boy had said two words to each other. Draco punctuating his bites of food with glares at the assembled crowd, with a haughty expression of superiority upon his face. Harry's head was bent forward, and he was poking at his food, but not really eating anything. Sirius noticed with a lurch of his stomach that he had curled his feet beneath him on the chair, and he hoped that by the end of this Harry wouldn't be too overwhelmed.

Aside from watching Harry like a hawk and accepting felicitations as best he could while trying to not sound dismissive, he was watching Snape closely. The man had hardly moved, his eyes fixed upon Harry, his lip curled in blatant disgust. Sirius clenched his fist, but Remus, apparently sensing danger, reached down and gripped his wrist tightly.

“Don't make a scene,” he hissed in Sirius' ear, “this arrangement won't be kept quiet, and the last thing we need is to add fuel to the fire by you hexing Severus in front of an audience.”

It was difficult for Sirius to calm himself. It was bad enough Snape decided to show his greasy face, but the man was staring at the little boy as though he would love to hex him. Sirius felt as though there was something awfully familiar about that expression, though.

“He's staring at Harry like—like—”

“Like he's James,” Remus filled in with a small frown.

And of course, Sirius realized with a flood of noisome memory, that was it.

 

 


	5. Getting Along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Great Gatsby reference I mean the Robert Redford one, not the Leo one.

Chapter 5 – Getting Along

 

Harry felt like he was in one of Aunt Petunia's old films, like The Great Gatsby or The Sound of Music.

All around him people milled about in glamorous clothes and ate fancy foods that he couldn't pronounce the name of. He felt entirely out of place, and his agemate wasn't exactly making things any easier.

Draco sat across from him, eating and drinking, looking entirely at ease. Harry noticed how he sat, leant back, his legs crossed at the knee, observing everyone as though he were miles above it. When Harry looked over to Draco's father, Lucius, who was standing with Sirius, he thought that their expressions were pretty similar. Lucius's cold stare swivelled towards him and Harry averted his gaze, poking at the strange foods on his plate, his appetite gone.

Harry had tried to speak several times, but it almost felt as though he had forgotten how. When Harry compared in his head how this boy had grown up compared to how he had, Harry felt a strange tightness in his stomach, though he wasn't sure what it meant. He chanced a look up, and felt momentary panic when he couldn't see Sirius, but relaxed when he saw him a little farther back with Remus. Their eyes met and he gave Harry a small nod and encouraging smile. Harry relaxed a little.

“Father told me you live with muggles,” a cold voice said. Harry looked over to see that Draco had finally spoken to him. Harry frowned a little as he nodded.

“Mhm,” he said, uncertain what else he could say. “But I live with Sirius now, and Remus. They're nice.” He bit on the inside of his cheek, while Draco eyed him curiously. It wasn't outright dislike, but he still looked at Harry as though he was beneath him somehow. He didn't like it.

“Yes, Father told me all about that,” Draco said, “I don't know how you could live like that, I'm afraid I've got no taste for canines.” Harry tilted his head to the side in confusion.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, cocking his head to the side. With every moment that passed, Harry liked the boy less and less. He reminded him in many ways of Dudley.

“Living with an Animagus and a Werewolf,” Draco said, arching a brow as though that were obvious. Harry turned to look at Sirius again, confusion written all over his face. He saw his godfather lurch forward and Remus grab his arm, then Remus leant in to say something to him quietly. “You really didn't know?” Harry turned back to Draco and shook his head.

“What's an Aminagus?” Harry asked, and Draco's eyes narrowed at the question. It unsettled Harry, the way Draco glared at him. He wasn't sure what he had done wrong, or what could make Draco look at him as though he had dribbled on his shirt or something.

“It's someone who knows how to turn into an animal. Father told me about it once.”

“Oh.”

The boys lapsed into uncomfortable silence.

Harry pulled up his legs and sat on his ankles, and ignored Draco's glare of disapproval. Harry glanced around, pretending not to notice the look, and his eyes fell upon a strange man who seemed to be hiding from the other people at the party.

Something about the way he looked at Harry made him feel as though he might be sick. He quickly looked back at the table, picking absently at a small nick on the edge of the otherwise smooth surface. He could still feel the eyes of the man on him, and it made him feel scared and uncomfortable, though he couldn't figure out exactly why.

“Sirius told me your Father doesn't like me because of my mum,” Harry said after a long silence, and Draco glared at Harry. He quickly looked back down at his plate.

“My Father is not keen on my associating with half-bloods,” Draco said simply, in a tone that told Harry that he shouldn't ask again.

Harry was thoroughly grateful when evening began to fall around them, and Lucius announced the end of the celebration. He jumped up at once and hurried over to Sirius, grabbing his arm when he reached him.

“Can we go home?” Harry asked at once in a rush, and Sirius smiled, though the expression seemed sad, too.

“Soon,” he said while he patted Harry's shoulder gently. Draco stood next to his parents and was determinedly not looking at Harry, while Harry stood with Remus and Sirius, doing exactly the same thing. When the last of the guests filtered out, Lucius turned to Sirius and grasped his hand briefly in what was almost a handshake, but to Harry looked more like they were trying to break each other's fingers.

“Black,” he said curtly with a small nod of his head. Harry was so busy watching his godfather that he did not at once notice Draco approaching him. Remus got his attention by tapping him lightly on the shoulder and gave him a nudge in the other boy's direction. Swallowing his feelings of dislike, he extended his hand and mimicked Sirius' brief handshake.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Sirius said stiffly. Harry's eyes bulged. _Tomorrow?_ He detested the idea of having to sit with Draco again. But before he could protest, he was being led through the maze of the Manor with Sirius and Remus on either side of him, each holding onto one of his hands. He felt entirely drained, not sure if he'd be awake enough when he got home to complain about repeating the experience.

Sirius and Remus bid a curt farewell to the Malfoys, and stepped down the path and to the street. Harry let go of Remus's hand to stifle a wide yawn, and he heard someone above him chuckle. They didn't comment on it, but when Harry stumbled over his robes, halfway towards the cover of trees they had arrived in that morning, he yelped in surprise when Sirius scooped him up.

“We're almost home, Harry,” Sirius said reassuringly.

_Home._

It was both a strange and wonderful thing to hear. He hadn't felt like he had had a home with the Dursleys, but with Sirius and Remus, he was finding that there was a place in the world that he could actually  _call_ home. He rested his head on Sirius's shoulder with a sleepy smile on his face.

Harry didn't remember getting home, or getting into his pyjamas, or going to bed. but he woke in all three. He rubbed his eyes, the room very dark, and it took him a second to realize it was still nighttime.

He pulled up his blankets to his neck, and stared up at the blank and blurry ceiling. So much had happened, he hadn't time to think over it all. Harry knew one thing for certain, though, a word he'd heard Uncle Vernon use a few times:  _Expectations_ .

For whatever reason, Sirius  _expected_ him to become friends with Draco. Draco was _expected_ to be friends with him, no matter how much his father disliked the idea.

Though Harry understood, or, at least he  _thought_ he understood the idea of  _expectations_ , it didn't mean that he liked it any better. He wondered vaguely why this was happening to him, did he do something bad, and this was his punishment, to be friends with people that hated him for no good reason? He reached up and hugged his pillow.

It was a long time before Harry went back to sleep, but he did, eventually, sleep.

 

~*~

 

Harry groaned when he felt someone shaking him gently. He rolled away, hugging his pillow more tightly.

“No,” he mumbled, his pillow effectively muffling his protest.

“Come on Harry,” said Sirius gently, giving him another small shake, “it's time to get up.”

“I don't want to,” he mumbled, turning slightly to look up at him. He couldn't see him clearly without his glasses, but this morning he didn't really care to. “Draco hates me for no reason. Why do I need to get to know him?” he felt the sting in his eyes and he roughly rubbed at them with his fist. He knew grownups hated it when kids cried. The memory of Uncle Vernon yelling at him for crying bloomed in his mind, and he quickly shook the memory away.

Even without his glasses, he could see that Sirius looked sad. He ran his fingers through Harry's hair in what was supposed to be a comforting motion, but Harry flinched away from the touch. Sirius was making him go to people who didn't like him. He didn't want to be mad at his godfather, but he also felt like he couldn't help but _be_ mad.

“Harry,” Sirius with a sigh, and he retracted his hand. “It's complicated, but if there was any way I could _not_ do this to you, I would. Remus and I didn't want this for you, but we had no way to stop it from happening. Now all we can do is make the best of it. Do you understand?”

“I guess so,” Harry said after several minutes of silence. He still hated it, but it at least seemed as though Sirius was on his side, that he didn't want this for Harry either. It was a small comfort, but did not help to quell the sting very much.

“Tell you what,” Sirius said as he handed him his glasses, and his godfather came into focus above him. “Let's really pi—er, _annoy_ the Malfoys today. You can wear whatever normal clothes you like. And don't worry, it's not a party like yesterday, it'll just be us and the Malfoys.” Harry sat up at once and mirrored Sirius's mischievous grin.

 

“Are you _trying_ to give Lucius more reason to drop you into a vat of undiluted bubotuber pus?” Remus asked fifteen minutes later when Harry appeared in the kitchen wearing jeans and a yellow t-shirt, with a red jumper layered over top. Remus sounded as though he couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused.

“Eh, whatever works,” Sirius said with a laugh as he sat down at the table. Without another word, Remus began piling Harry's plate high with sausages, eggs, and toast.

Having eaten so little the day before, Harry was famished and ate his way though two helpings of everything. Sirius was nursing a cup of coffee, and Remus was reading the newspaper with his brow furrowed.

“Something wrong?” Sirius asked a few minutes later, and Remus answered by sliding the paper over to him. His brow furrowed in the same way Remus's had, and he let out a huff that was almost a laugh. “Didn't take them very long. Lovely.” He shoved the paper back to Remus, and while Harry wondered what that was about, though he thought it better not to ask.

“What's an Aminagus?” Harry asked a few minutes later, his voice garbled slightly by a mouthful of egg. He watched Sirius and Remus exchange a look, then turned their attention back to Harry.

“It's Animagus. Why do you ask, Harry?” Remus sounded concerned, though Harry didn't know why.

“Draco said I was living with one, but I don't know what he meant.” Harry's voice trailed off to a mumble, wondering if he should mention the other part of what the boy had said yesterday.

“It's not bad, Harry,” Sirius said gently. “We're sorry we didn't tell you, but we didn't want to overwhelm you with too much information too fast.”

Without another word Sirius stood up, smiling as he stepped out to where Harry could see him fully, and before his very eyes Harry watched his godfather transform into a huge, black, shaggy dog. His mouth dropped open and a bit of egg fell out of his mouth and tumbled into his lap, though he didn't notice straightaway. Dog-Sirius trotted over to Harry, tail wagging and thumping against the side of the table, and barked once. A moment later, Sirius changed back, grinning at Harry.

Dumbstruck, Harry glanced over to Remus. He was smiling, but his face fell when Harry blurted out his next question, “does that mean you're a werewolf, Remus?” The man's face fell at once, and his eyes, wide with shock, flicked to Sirius, who had sat back down.

“What did Draco tell you about werewolves, Harry?” Remus asked gently, though Harry was still confused as to why Remus looked so upset.

“Nothing. He just said I was living with one, that's all,” he frowned a little, “I think he was trying to make me feel bad about not living in a palace or something.” He paused and crossed his arms as he remembered the conversation. “But this is the best house I've ever been in. I don't know why he thought I'd feel bad about it.”

“Harry,” Remus said when he had finished, “I will not deny that I am a werewolf, and I would ask you to please not tell anyone you may meet. It is not a bad thing, exactly, but many wizards do not like my—kind. People can be very cruel when it comes to that and while I would never hurt you, and Sirius and I have taken many precautions to keep my _other_ form from ever hurting you, some people may feel that you are in danger, living here. Because of that, they may try to return you to your aunt and uncle.”

Harry's eyes widened, and he could feel his heart pound hard in his chest. He took a moment to calm himself down, and he swallowed thickly as he nodded.

“I won't tell anyone.”

 

~*~

 

They arrived at the Malfoy Manor just before noon, and Harry could feel his stomach flip-flopping nervously. He  _really_ didn't want to be here, but Sirius's promise that there wouldn't be a bunch of adults was slightly comforting. While his godfather had kept his promise and let him wear his normal clothes, he and Remus had donned wizard robes again. They still looked very strange to Harry, but he found that he was starting to get used to it.

Harry bit his lip when Lucius greeted them at the door, his eyes narrowing slightly when he saw Harry. He didn't say anything mean, which was a small comfort for Harry. He felt more at ease than he had yesterday, but he still didn't like the look he had been given by the older man. It reminded him of Uncle Vernon.

Like the day before, Lucius led them to the back garden. Draco's mother was sitting comfortably at a small round table on the patio sipping some sort of amber liquid, and Harry saw Draco off on the lawn, drifting around the edges of the property on what looked like a broomstick. Like Lucius, Draco's mother narrowed her eyes when she saw him. Harry felt a flush creep up his neck, but he looked away and pretended that he hadn't noticed.

Draco seemed to have been made aware that they had arrived, and he shuffled back towards the patio, deliberately taking his time. Harry saw that he looked sullen and irritated, and he felt something close to relief. Obviously, the other boy liked this no better than he did. Harry felt himself shunted gently towards Draco as Remus said encouragingly, “go on and play.”

Harry stepped forward reluctantly, and though Draco didn't glare at him like his parents had, the dislike was there all the same. Harry stepped down onto the grass and followed Draco, who had discarded the broom near the patio. When Harry looked back however, it was no longer there.

“Why are you wearing muggle clothes?” Draco asked suddenly, his tone was surprisingly neutral. Harry shifted his gaze to the other boy, who was still eyeing him strangely, but it thankfully did not make Harry feel as uneasy as when his parents had looked at him.

“Sirius said I could,” Harry replied hesitantly, “I feel more comfortable in them.” Draco stared, as though Harry had something completely mad like, ' _I've got three buttocks,_ ' or something. The look unnerved Harry, but he felt more annoyed than upset by the expression. “What?” He wished Draco would stop staring at him like that.

“You're very strange, Harry Potter.”

 

~*~

 

The week passed very slowly for Harry. He learnt early on that he was expected to spend a whole week in Draco's company, which, despite Sirius's reassurances, did not get easier as time went on. They still eyed each other with equal dislike, and when they tried to gravitate back to their respective guardians, they were gently shoved back together.

On Thursday, the fourth day, Harry was horrified when two big, lumbering boys had come to visit as well, and made a point of completely ignoring Harry while they played. He sat in the grass, his knees pulled up to his chest and watched sadly.

On Friday, Harry wasn't ignored, but instead chased mercilessly by Draco on his small flying broomstick, and he drove Harry into the forest that bordered the Manor's property. It was only when Draco laughed and flew off that Harry realized that he had gone in very deep. It was very dark, and it took the adults several hours to find him. Sirius called Lucius a lot of colourful names in a rage Harry had never seen from him before, but he was too relieved that he hadn't been eaten by a bear or some other monster to feel overly alarmed by his godfather's reaction to Draco's prank.

On Saturday, the boys were back, and Harry now knew that they were called Crabbe and Goyle. They alternated between ignoring Harry completely, and trying to pelt him with the wild berries that they had found on the edge of the property. The berries felt as hard as rocks when they came into contact with his skin.

At long last, Sunday came and Harry was relieved that this would be the last day he needed to be around Draco.

It passed more amicably than the rest of the week, Harry sitting on the edge of the patio, reluctant to stray too far from the adults, while he watched Draco zip around the lawn on his little broomstick. He welcomed Draco ignoring him; it was much better than being hit or chased.

By evening, Harry was relieved when Sirius announced that it was time to go. He all but ran to his godfather, grabbing his hand and turning back once to look at Draco, who had joined his parents.

“Until next year then. Black, Lupin,” Lucius said as he nodded to them each in turn, paying no mind to the boys.

Harry felt suddenly as though the bottom of his stomach had disappeared.  _Next year?_

 

 


	6. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter than the usual ones I put out. Sorry all! Also, I got a job! Yaaaaay! I'm a productive member of society again! I don't have internet at home so I may not be able to post as frequently, but 90% of the story is completed, so its just a matter of finding wifi, doing edits, and posting. I'll try my best to post a couple times a week, though.

Chapter 6 – Complications

 

The trip home had been less than fun.

“What did he mean, Sirius? _What did he mean_?” Harry had asked in a tone nothing short of panic, “I don't have to come back, do I? Draco's mean! I don't _want_ to be his friend!”

The poor boy was practically in tears by the time they crossed the threshold, and Sirius felt utterly helpless as he watched the little boy cling to his hand tightly, his knuckles white, and he seemed to be teetering between a deep desire to vocalize his distress, and genuine fear of being reprimanded for doing so. Remus gave Sirius a significant look, to which he nodded minutely.

“Come on Harry, you'll feel better in the morning,” Sirius picked him up, and Harry's little arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, and he pressed his head into Sirius's shoulder. The soft sniffling of the little boy trying to keep himself from crying almost broke him.

Being a parental figure to the child of his postmortem best friend was exhausting on many levels, especially considering that though he and Remus had spent the better part of the last five years preparing to take Harry in, Sirius had been wholly unprepared for the little James dopp ë lganger he had been confronted with.

The illusion had been crushed almost at once as Sirius saw almost nothing of James in him, save his appearance. Instead, Sirius found a deeply sensitive boy who had been deprived from any form of comfort or love for far too long. It pained Sirius more than he thought possible, and he absolutely hated having to push Harry into this.

After he tucked Harry into bed, Sirius joined Remus on their sofa, and he pressed his fingers into his temples with a soft groan.

“That was about as fun as arm wrestling a grindylow,” he muttered while he took a steadying breath, and raked his fingers through his tangled hair. “God, the poor kid. After all the shit those muggles put him through, I hate making him do this.” He looked up then and saw a small roll of parchment in Remus's hand, and smiled bitterly. “More good news?” he asked, and Remus's mouth twitched; Sirius couldn't tell if Remus wanted to smile or grimace.

“Dumbledore blocked our Petition for Adoption. He says because of Lily's protection Harry gets...there, it would be ill-advised for him to no longer consider it a home.” He sighed, and reached out to lace his fingers with Sirius's. “He also said that he can confirm, with absolute certainty, that Voldemort is definitely gone, though,” he said while his mouth broke into a small smile. “So that's something.”

“Then why would Albus want to keep sending Harry back to those abusers if Voldemort's gone?” He knew the man was brilliant, but sometimes his thought process utterly baffled him.

“Many Death Eaters are still at large, ones that would mean Harry harm if he were to stop considering that place as a home.” Remus sighed and dropped the letter onto the table, then his fingers moved to rub the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. “And now that the Courting has officially begun, Albus is extra concerned for Harry's safety. The undercover Aurors in place, the extra protective enchantments around the Malfoy Manor as well as our own flat...it may not be enough to ensure that Harry will be completely safe.”

“And then there's Snape,” Sirius said, his voice surprisingly level, despite the fact that the idea of his presence earlier that week filled him with almost overwhelming anger and disgust.

“Albus swears up and down he was on our side.” Remus reminded him patiently, though his expression showed that he was uncertain whether he entirely believed it.

“He may have been allied against us in getting rid of Voldemort, but that doesn't mean he's a decent human being by any means,” Sirius muttered. “The git was _infatuated_ with James, and it got out of hand pretty damn quickly.”

“It seems my recollections of our school days blocked that bit out,” Remus mused, while he reached forward and poured them each a healthy measure of muggle whisky. “What happened?” Remus asked as he pressed the glass into Sirius's hand, and he knocked back the drink before he began.

“I don't know all the details, James wasn't exactly eager to share that, erm, _experience_ with me,” Sirius said with a frown as he tried to get his thoughts in order. “I know Snape had been friends with Lily growing up, and they stopped talking to each other after fifth year, you know, when he called Lily a Mudblood?” Remus nodded, but remained silent while he waited for him to continue.

“Well, in sixth year, James was cornered by Snape. I don't know everything, like I said, he wasn't keen to discuss it. Suffice it to say Snape cursed him, and attempted to...well...” Sirius grimaced. “I think if James had been anyone else, Snape may have actually managed it, but James got out of there no worse for wear. He told me what happened in confidence, but I don't think it ever happened again. It wasn't hard to miss, how the little greaseball stared at him after that. I think it took all of James's willpower to refrain from tormenting the git, and, of course, Lily would never forgive him if he started that up again.” Sirius shook his head. Even after all these years, he still couldn't fathom why Lily was ever friends with someone like _Snape_.

“And here I thought he was just jealous that James had gotten close to Lily,” Remus said with a small frown. Though his tone was even, Sirius could see the absolute disgust written all over his face. “But be fair, even Severus wouldn't do something like that to a child.”

“Wouldn't he? He's not exactly the picture of mental health.”

“I don't think it's something we'll need to worry about, at least not yet. We could send an owl to Albus and request that he keep a close eye on things after Harry starts at Hogwarts, make sure Severus doesn't do anything...untoward?” But even as he spoke, Remus seemed to sense that it would be a useless endeavour.

“Albus has a soft spot for him, I think. I feel like it might be a safer bet to tell Harry...well, not _that_ , but just ask him to be extra cautious, at least when the time comes.” Sirius helped himself to another shot of whisky. “I don't know _why_ he trusts the man so completely. There's got to be a reason, but I don't like the idea of Harry going anywhere near him.”

“There won't be much we can do about that in the long run,” Remus said, still maintaining his almost infuriatingly level tone of voice. “I understand your feelings towards Severus, but especially under Albus's watchful eye I don't think he'd try anything, even if he wanted to.” He grimaced a little, “I just hope that we're overreacting.”

Sirius set down his glass, and removed his hand from Remus's. He pressed his hands into his face with a heavy sigh, before raking them through his hair again.

“I don't know Remus,” Sirius muttered, “I just want him to have something as close to a normal childhood and adolescence as he can, given the circumstances. His life has been so effectively fucked up already, I don't think he'd be able to cope if Snape...”

“Slow down,” Remus said, and despite the subject of their conversation, he heard the man chuckle. “You have a father's love for Harry, of course you want to shield him from all the evils of the world.”

“Oh? And you don't?”

“You're his godfather. I was close with James, but you were like a brother to him. I see myself more in an uncle sort of role.” He winced a little at the title, and Sirius wondered if Remus was thinking of Vernon. “Don't mistake me, I care for Harry, but you're like the family he's never had.” Remus smiled slightly, “I have no desire to wedge myself between the two of you to satisfy my own cares that I carry for him.”

“You're too good for me,” Sirius said, smiling slightly, and reached out to squeeze Remus's hand.

“I know.” They both laughed.

It took Sirius a long time to get to sleep that night.

The whisky had helped relax him, but his mind was still overrun with worries. Was he overreacting to the whole Snape thing? No matter what anyone said, the way he had glared at Harry had deeply unsettled him. Sirius was certain that this wasn't the end of it. Harry was growing used to his life here, but Sirius hated to shatter his new sense of security when they had to hand him back to the muggles. He had no illusions about what was likely to happen, and he was certain it would take some weeks to put Harry back together when they were reunited.

Sirius rolled over and relaxed into Remus's warmth as he fell into an uneasy sleep.

 

~*~

 

Over the following few days, they made no mention of Harry's expectation to meet with Draco the following year, and both Sirius and Remus struggled with the temptation to over-indulge him.

They took Harry out everywhere—parks, cinemas, shopping malls, and burger bars. Harry was still extremely reluctant to ask for things, no doubt a tendency he had learned at the hands of his loving relatives. Sirius tried to drop hints that he would not be reprimanded for asking for things that he wanted, but they seemed to go over the boy's head. For the time being, he and Remus had come to a silent agreement to always ask him, “would you like some more?” and “Would you like to pick out a toy?” No matter where they were, intent on making sure Harry realized that if he wanted something, he  _could_ ask for it.

They did their best not to overdo it, and it seemed Harry also thought along the same vein.

“I don't want to be selfish,” Harry had whispered hesitantly to Sirius one evening as he was being tucked in, “I don't want to be like that.”

Harry looked genuinely frightened as he said it. Sirius assumed that his cousin had been doted on by Vernon and Petunia more than just a little, while entirely excluding Harry. The thought made him feel almost sick with anger, and he struggled to keep his expression neutral for the boy's sake as he looked down at him.

“Asking for things doesn't make you selfish, Harry,” he said gently, though the fearful look in his eyes did not fade right away. “You're allowed to ask for things that you want. Selfishness means wanting more and more all the time, and no matter what you have, you always still want things.” He paused, and he watched the boy work through what he was being told. “Remus and I don't think you're selfish, Harry. I don't think you ever could be, so try not to worry about it too much, all right?” Harry smiled sightly and nodded. Sirius stood and watched as Harry took his glasses off and rested them gently upon his night table.

“G'night Sirius,” Harry said, yawning a little.

“Goodnight Harry.”

Sirius stepped into the hall, and shifted the door until it was almost closed. He leant against the wall, watching Harry for a few moments with a small smile. As expected, Harry grabbed his glasses, crawled back out of bed, and pulled out his rucksack. He heard the sharp gasp of shock and watched as Harry pulled from the bag an enormous pile of muggle storybooks. Sirius watched with a small grin as Harry touched the covers of each one, looked inside, and went on to the next. He knelt next to his bed for a very long time, just staring at the surprise.

Sirius had felt that Harry might be embarrassed if he knew that Sirius knew. Instead, he had left for a few hours with a small wad of muggle bank notes, and bought as many storybooks as he could. True to their word to Dumbledore, they were trying to keep Harry's contact with the wizarding world to a bare minimum, but Sirius refused to let Harry go through his childhood feeling as if he didn't deserved to be doted on by his guardians.

His work done, he walked quietly out to the sitting room where Remus was waiting.

 


	7. School Daze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Time jump #2! I really struggled with how to do the Hogwarts years for this story. Since 90% of the story takes place pre- and post-Hogwarts, I didn't want to skip over it completely, but I didn't want to spend too much time on it either, and wind up with it dragging. The result is this. I tried to keep it as canon as possible, while working in my AU bits. I hope you guys don't feel cheated by how much I glossed over. Angry comments are fair. I understand.

Chapter 7 – School Daze

 

Six years of being bounced like a human volleyball between a stable home life with Remus and Sirius, and a severely depressing one with the Dursleys was something Harry had never managed to get used to. To go from a home where he was wanted, and his company was enjoyed, to one where he was treated like a dog that had rolled in something smelly never failed to give Harry a strange feeling of whiplash.

Coupled with the ever-delightful week he was expected to spend with Draco Malfoy each summer, it made for an extremely confusing upbringing. Harry had always been deeply grateful that he had Remus and Sirius, but even the reassurances that they'd always be there for him was cold comfort during those few weeks he had to spend with his blood relatives.

Despite the fact that Sirius had always said that things would get better with time, but Harry felt like it only got worse. Amazingly, Uncle Vernon had stopped verbally berating him, and instead took to ignoring Harry completely. This suited Harry just fine, but it did get lonely rather quickly. Sirius had taught him to write and use Owl Post early on, and his depressing weeks with the Dursleys were punctuated with tiny rays of hope in the form of Archimedes, an old, cantankerous horned owl who brought him letters every other day.

 

_Harry,_ (Sirius wrote)

_I know it's miserable there with the Muggles, but don't worry. Remus and I will make it up to you when you get back. Remember, it's only for a couple weeks and then you won't need to see them again for a good, long time._

_Keep your head up!_

_Sirius_

 

The words of encouragement weren't very comforting after spending a day being completely ignored and barely fed, but he dutifully wrote back straightaway. Harry was always reluctant to send the owl off with his response—it was nice to have a creature around that didn't look at him with disgust.

Despite his less-than-friendly treatment, Harry was always reluctant to tell Sirius about specific problems that he was having with his relatives. Not that he was embarrassed, but Sirius's curse first, ask questions later mentality made it a little difficult for Harry to tell him what was going on without worrying that he might show up at Privet Drive and do some real damage. On more than one occasion he and Remus had had to remind Sirius that it would be a little difficult to stay in contact if he was in Azkaban.

 

~*~

 

Harry was with the Dursleys when a particular letter arrived for him.

He often wondered how much easier the entire ordeal would have been if he had been with Sirius and Remus at the time of its arrival. The chaotic whirlwind of events that followed was, if nothing else, memorable, if not a little hilarious in retrospect.

There was still a bitter taste in his mouth as he recalled his talks with Hagrid in those first few days of August _._ He felt deeply betrayed by Remus and Sirius, especially as he thought of all those times he had asked them,  _'Why did that person look at my scar like that?'_ .

They never answered him, at least, not properly.

His fingers traced his lightning-bolt scar.  _Why_ hadn't Sirius and Remus told him about Voldemort? Did they think that he was too immature to properly handle it? It stung, and he had even contemplated ignoring the letter that had come for him, wishing him luck with his first term, along with apologizing profusely for being unable to escort him to Platform 9 ¾ .

Among all the new information regarding his apparent fame, he had learned that he and Draco were not destined to be  _just friends,_ like he had first been told _._ Harry was still uncertain whether he was thankful that Sirius had told him or not.

“This is the Betrothal Contract,” Sirius had explained, showing where he, Remus, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and a man named Pike had signed some ten years earlier. “It means that when you turn seventeen, you and Draco are to be bonded—married.”

_Married!_ He couldn't even choose his own husband or wife! Harry was furious, and did not speak to Sirius for several days after that. The whole concept of marrying a bloke was confusing enough, but being forced into it was almost more than he could handle.

A few days before he was due to leave, Hedwig returned one evening with a tiny scroll of parchment tied to her leg, and with it another unpleasant reminder of his inescapable future.

 

_I know you really don't want to think on this Harry_ , Sirius wrote,  _but be sure that you do not speak or acknowledge Draco Malfoy while at school. It will breach the contract that I showed you, and the repercussions for breaking a magical contract are never an enjoyable experience. Your teachers are aware of the situation. Have a good term, we'll see about getting you here for Christmas._

 

As if he wanted any more reminders of his would-be _fianc_ _é_.

True to his word to Sirius, he did not speak to Draco. It almost felt like revenge, being able to  _finally_ ignore him after years of being subjected to similar treatment at Draco's hands. At the same time, Harry got the shock of a lifetime on the train when someone poked their head into his compartment and said to him, “anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full.”

It was a strange experience, choosing a friend, and having them  _not_ ignore you. Harry almost didn't know what to do, or how to explain to Ron why he totally ignored and wouldn't even  _look_ at Draco Malfoy when he burst into their compartment with Crabbe and Goyle and attempted to take the rest of their sweets. 

Thank goodness for Scabbers.

Ron asked him multiple times in multiple ways what was up between him and Malfoy, to which Harry still had not answered properly.

“I mean, Harry,” Ron had said one afternoon, “you won't even _look_ at him. Why?” 

Harry couldn't answer him, no matter how often he had asked in those first few weeks at Hogwarts. How could he tell his new friend what Malfoy was to him?

' _oh it's no big deal Ron, he's just my husband-to-be, that's all._ ' Even in his head it sounded awful. 

The other big shock Harry received was during his first week. Harry knew he recognized the Potions Master, it was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind. His face was familiar to Harry, but he couldn't place it. Of course, this feeling was heavily overshadowed by the snide comments and insults Snape felt compelled to shoot at him, as well as the deeply unsettling way Snape would stare at him. He caught him doing it sometimes at mealtimes, or during lessons.

Harry wasn't sure if Snape was trying to catch him doing something he wasn't supposed to, or if it was related to something else. He tried to not let it get to him, but he couldn't fathom why a man whom he had never met before would despise him so completely.

 

_Sirius & Remus, _ Harry wrote,

_First week of lessons went OK. I made a friend already, Ron Weasley. He's like a saint compared to Draco._

_But something has been bothering me. There's a teacher here and he teaches Potions. His name is Professor Snape, and I feel like I've seen him somewhere before. Have I met him, did I just forget? Maybe it's something I don't feel like remembering—he's about as nice as Uncle Vernon._

_Don't worry though, I'm OK._

_Harry_

 

He didn't detail how nasty Snape had been—he didn't want Sirius to think that he couldn't take care of himself. Handing the letter to Hedwig, she took off into the deep blue evening sky.

It did not take Sirius long to respond, and Harry had a feeling that it was nothing short of a miracle that his godfather hadn't burst into the castle and throttled Snape, given the mama-bear tendencies he'd seen in the man over the years growing up with him.

  
  


_Harry,_

_Yes you've seen him before. He was at The First Meeting ceremony when you were five, at Malfoy Manor. It was a long time ago, I'm not surprised that you don't remember him. You were never officially introduced, though. Let me know straightaway if he tries anything funny._

_Sirius_

  
  


Harry wasn't entirely certain what Sirius had meant by  _funny,_ but he sent Hedwig back with a short note reassuring him that he would. He wasn't sure what was holding him back from telling Sirius or Remus about Snape, but he didn't want the others—the Slytherins especially—to think that he went crying to his guardians as soon as someone was mean to him.

While he and Draco continued to ignore each other at the insistence of their parents and guardians, they still found ways to heckle one another, albeit indirectly. From Draco challenging Ron to a duel, and just barely avoiding detention with Filch, to getting back Neville's Remembrall and subsequently finding himself Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Harry found it highly amusing that Draco's blatant attempts at getting him expelled had failed so abysmally.

Most unfortunately, ignoring Draco was both wonderful and frustrating at the same time.

Harry loved throwing back at the other boy the same kind of treatment that he had experienced for years at the youngest Malfoy's hands. At the same time however, Harry was unused to having to pointedly ignore someone so completely, and nearly caught himself acknowledging him more than once.

 

Of course, it had to be Draco's ego that inevitably broke the contract's guidelines.

  
  


Harry remembered dashing from the Great Hall with Ron and his wrapped broomstick.

He remembered Draco snatching it from him and proclaiming, “that's a broomstick. You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them,” before throwing it back.

After that, his memory had become rather hazy.

  
  


Harry didn't remember blacking out, but he did remember waking up in the Hospital Wing. He remembered blinding pain so complete he could not lift himself from the haze long enough to know if he was alone or not. His body ached, angry boils danced up and down his arms, bursting the second his skin brushed up against anything. Distantly, he thought he could hear someone else screaming...or was it his own voice? He could no longer tell.

“Calming Draught!” Harry heard a woman's voice cry, “I can't do anything until they calm down!” _They?_ Was he not alone in this haze of agony? He felt something cool touch his lips, and a thick, viscous liquid trickled down his throat. It made him choke and sputter, but almost at once he felt some of his tension leave him.

 

The next time Harry woke he groaned with pain, but it was nowhere near as blinding at it had been the last time that he was conscious. It felt more like he had sustained bad bruises over a good portion of his body. He turned, and saw that there was a fuzzy form of someone sitting at his side. He pawed blindly for his glasses, and as he pulled them on, Sirius come into focus.

“Sirius?” Harry was alarmed at how hoarse he sounded. The man had been crouched forward in an uncomfortable-looking chair, seemingly asleep. When Harry spoke, he jerked a little and opened his eyes. The dark circles he saw made Harry wonder how long it had been since his godfather had properly slept.

  
  


“Welcome back,” Sirius said with a weak smile, reaching forward to muss Harry's hair affectionately. 

“It was Draco,” Harry said in a whispered rush, “he talked to me and then...and then...I can't remember.” Harry shook his head, trying to recall his memories, but even the small motion made him feel queasy. Pained tears stung the corners of his eyes. “Sirius, it _hurts,_ ” Harry felt himself tremble, and it took a great deal of self control to keep himself from crying. 

“I know Harry,” Sirius said softly, moving to grasp Harry's shoulder as he always did when Harry was upset, but at the last minute pulled back. Harry was grateful, even the feeling of his pyjamas touching his skin was near-agony. “The contract punished both you and Draco for his stupidity. Lucius and I have it all sorted, and you'll both be back to normal soon.” 

“How soon is soon?” Harry asked with a frown, again cursing Draco for doing this to him. 

“I'm not sure,” Sirius said softly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Magical contracts are temperamental things. Usually they cease punishment once the proper enchantments have been performed, which was done yesterday afternoon. Now, it seems you just need to wait for your body to heal on its own.” 

“Wonderful,” Harry gritted his teeth. “Well when you next see Draco curse him for me, since I can't do it myself.” Sirius huffed a breath in what was almost a laugh. 

“And have Lucius throw one of his trademark hissy fits? No chance.” Sirius grinned when Harry laughed, then his face fell a little. “Your friend—Ron, he's been asking what happened. Your teachers and I settled on saying that you cursed each other, but incorrectly. I assumed you wanted to tell him about your, er, _special circumstances_ in your own time.”

Harry cracked a faint smile. “Yeah, thanks.”

  
  


~*~

  
  


Following his brief stint in the Hospital Wing, Harry dutifully wrote to Sirius and Remus every week, reassuring them that he was properly avoiding Draco at all costs.

After spending so much time being ignored by the Dursleys and the Malfoys both, it was nice to have someone who actually cared to know what was going on in his day-to-day life. While he had no illusions about Sirius and Remus being his actual parents, after so long without anyone who cared, they were just as good. Harry's only concern was how people would react to the 'Harry Potter Has Two Dads' gossip.

Those from muggle families tended to give a little start of surprise, but Ron and everyone else from the wizarding families hardly batted an eyelash.

“Why would that freak me out?” Ron had asked him after Harry told him about his family situation, after weeks and weeks of dwelling on Ron's worst-case-scenario responses. The amazing part was how genuinely confused Ron had been towards Harry's reluctance to tell him. “Two blokes together is just another kind of relationship. My mum knows a bunch of couples that are two witches or two wizards.” At that point Harry had tuned him out as he spoke, feeling as though a great band of tension had been removed from his back.

“Really Harry,” Hermione had said when he told her in hushed tones in the library. “Why would you be afraid to tell me that? If they are good to you, who _cares_ if it's two men? _Honestly._ Besides, as far as wizarding culture is concerned, it's totally accepted. In _Hogwarts, A History_ there are several passages about Betrothed students having to ignore one another, and at least _half_ of them were same-sex couples...” 

Harry felt suddenly queasy at the mention of the word  _betrothed._ What would Ron and Hermione say when they found out? Homosexuality was one thing, but with a  _Malfoy_ was another matter entirely.

  
  


~*~  
  


_Harry,_

_I've spoken to Dumbledore, and he wants you to either stay at the castle or go back to your delightful relatives for the holidays. Believe me, we did try to get you home for Christmas, but Dumbledore must have his reasons. I'm really sorry._

_Sirius_

  
  


The parchment was badly creased after Harry had read and reread the short letter over a dozen times that evening. He couldn't quite pinpoint why he was so angry; he'd missed Christmases with them before, why did this feel different? Harry crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the fire, where it was consumed almost at once by the flames.

“Harry?” Hermione asked timidly over the top of her Transfiguration text, “is everything all right?”

“Yeah, spectacular,” he grumbled, nudging a partially charred log back into the grate with the tip of his shoe. “I can't go home for Christmas. Dumbledore won't let Sirius and Remus.”

“What?” Hermione blinked, “but, why? Is it anything to do with You-Know-Who?” 

“I don't know,” Harry muttered with a shrug while he continued to stare at the flames sullenly. “I mean, why would it? He's dead, Hagrid told me all about it. Sirius always says that Dumbledore has his reasons, but hell if I know what they are. No one tells me anything.” He crossed his arms, trying to put his disappointment out of his mind, with little success.

“Well, Dumbledore must have his reasons,” said Hermione reasonably, reaching out to gently touch Harry's shoulder, but he flinched away from her touch. She froze, and retracted her hand. “They say he's a genius, it's not like he'd want you to be miserable on purpose.”

“Yeah, sometimes I wonder,” Harry muttered, and nudged at the fire with his toe again. 

“Come on Harry, it won't be that bad,” Ron said consolingly, and Harry turned to him, and cocked an eyebrow. “Me, Percy, Fred, and George are all staying too, it'll be great. You'll see.” 

 

_Sirius,_

_It's OK. I'll stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. Ron and some of the other Weasleys are staying too, something about their parents visiting one of their other brothers in Romania. Don't worry about it._

_Harry_

  
  


Harry sent off Hedwig with the letter the next day, still bubbling with frustration. He knew it wasn't Sirius's fault, at least, not really, but he didn't want to have an inter-owl argument with his godfather about it. He knew that Sirius meant well by following Dumbledore's every wish, but sometimes Harry wished that he wouldn't. He kicked at the dropping-strewn floor as Hedwig faded into the distance.

  
  


~*~

_Harry,_

_What in the name of Merlin were you doing atop the Astronomy tower, out-of-bounds, at night? You should count yourself lucky that I wasn't there, or I might've killed you. Make sure you don't address Draco during your detention._

_Sirius_

  
  


Harry groaned and hit his head lightly against the tabletop. Every time he tried to completely forget the whole 'I-have-to-marry-Draco-Malfoy' thing, Fate—or Sirius—seemed to find new and creative ways to remind him of it.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, glancing curiously at the note in his hand, “everything all right?”

“Yeah, brilliant.” Harry tucked the parchment into his bag before she could get a look at it, and grabbed a blank scrap of parchment and scribbled a note.

  
  


_Sirius,_

_It's a long story._

_Harry_

  
  


~*~

  
  


_Harry,_

_It's probably a good thing you're still at Hogwarts, or I might've strangled you. What was going through your head? You're extremely lucky that you and your friends weren't killed. There is a fine line between courage and stupidity, and honestly I can't tell which side you were on when you decided that it would be a good idea to face off against a Dark Wizard like Quirrell alone._

_Albus sent us an owl with the details of what happened, and I am astounded that you didn't bring this matter to a teacher instead of trying to handle it yourself. We are going to have a serious talk when we see you in July. Don't think you've heard the end of this._

_Sirius_

_PS. We bought you some new dress robes for your week with Draco this summer. I bet you can't wait._

 

Had it not been a letter blatantly reprimanding him, Harry might have laughed. Though it apparently was from Sirius, he was fairly certain Remus had rewritten it and omitted a few choice swear words, while the postscript sent nothing short of a wave of dread through him. He still hadn't told Ron and Hermione about that; in part because he was embarrassed, but mostly because he had no idea still how to break the news to them.

' _Oh well,'_ Harry thought as he tucked the letter into his trunk, ' _I still have seven years before I need to tell them._ '

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The primary reason I kept our hero at Hogwarts for Christmas in this chapter was an attempt to maintain some of the canon, since that's when he gets his invisibility cloak and finds the Mirror of Erised and all that. I just wanted to clarify that so that you guys don't think I'm making our hero suffer just for the sake of more angst.


	8. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Time jump #3! This is the last one. Just to reiterate, I'm way sorry about glossing over so much of the Hogwarts years. Because the story picks up post-seventh year, it made more sense to me to skip ahead. Thanks you guys so much for the comments, it thrills me that this story has been so well-received. As with the previous chapter, I understand if you guys are annoyed with me skipping over so much, but I hope that you can forgive me!

Chapter 8 – Time

 

When Harry was younger and Hagrid had told him about Hogwarts, Harry thought that it would be brilliant.

But time was a strange thing, and coupled with the chaos of each passing year, he felt as though everything was going too fast, and despite Harry's desperate exclamations, it wouldn't slow down.

Amidst summers with the Dursleys, then the Malfoys for one horrible week, then  _finally_ with Sirius and Remus, every year the betrothal came closer, and every year he hadn't the nerve to tell his two best friends about it. 

At the same time, he had been subject to what it felt like to have real parents for the first time in his life—in particular, the nagging part.

 

_Harry,_ (Sirius wrote,)

_Whose brilliant idea was it to fly a Ford Anglia all the way to Hogwarts, yours, or Ron's? This is a whole new plateau of stupid for you..._

 

_Harry,_

_What the hell were you doing outside, out of bounds, with Snape and Remus during a full moon? You're damn lucky none of you were turned or killed, you wait until I get hold of you..._

 

_Harry,_

_Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire? I know you wouldn't be daft enough to go_ looking _for trouble..._

 

_Harry,_

_Are you deliberately trying to break your contract? Talk to Draco again outside of your supervised time together, and there will be hell to pay..._

 

_Harry,_

_Do you plan on performing your Bonding in detention? I know Umbridge is unpleasant, but you need to try to resist the urge to antagonize her..._

 

With each letter that Harry got from his godfather, the less he sounded like the Sirius Harry had known, and the more he began to sound like Mrs Weasley. It was unnerving, and the overbearing protectiveness was exhausting to deal with. Along with the letters, Sirius included gentle suggestions that Harry should maybe consider telling his friends about his impending post-secondary nuptials.  
  


_Harry,_

_Your Bonding is in four years. I know you don't want to hear this but it will be better to tell your friends soon, instead of springing it on them. Maybe once things have settled down after the Tournament..._

 

_Harry,_

_I know you haven't told Ron and Hermione yet about your Bonding. Would you like me to help you decide what to say? After your OWLs we can discuss it..._

 

_Harry,_

_You need to tell Ron and Hermione about the bonding. Perhaps at Slughorn's Christmas Party (I know he invited you, don't deny it) maybe it'll be easier to tell them after a few glasses of eggnog..._

 

_Harry,_

_Next year's Lughnasadh Ball where your Bonding will be announced is going to be extremely public._ Daily Prophet _reporters will be there, and it's not something we'll be able to keep quiet..._

 

Where had the time gone? Harry felt as though he was watching water trickle through his cupped hands, and suddenly he found himself staring at an empty dormitory, with the Hogwarts Express ready to take him back to King's Cross for the last time. He felt cornered, with his bonding, wedding, whatever, looming before him like some great beast. Harry still had no idea how to break the news to Ron and Hermione, much less the fact that he was queer and that it was Malfoy on top of everything else.

While it was one thing to know that the wizarding world had no issues with sexuality, it was quite another to really  _know_ it. He had spent a good chunk of his childhood and adolescence being subject to Uncle Vernon's absolute disgust for  _nancy boys_ , as he called them, as well as the nasty barbs thrown his way when they had realized that his betrothal partner was not, in fact, a girl. 

Dudley was curiously absent whenever he was around after that. Not that Harry really minded so much, it wasn't as if Dudley had ever significantly impacted Harry's life—not counting the times his fist impacted upon Harry's face.

Remus and Sirius had done their best to quell his internalized homophobia, but at the end of the day, Harry knew that it was something he'd have to work out for himself. Having them around for a good chunk of the year had helped, but he still struggled with that last tendril of shame that clung to the corners of his conscience, and refused to accept his inclination towards boys.

In spite of everything, he was almost too excited to care. He was going home, his  _real_ home, finally. He never had to see the Dursleys again. Sirius and Remus had broken the news to him a few days before he was due to leave for the start of his seventh year, and that fact alone was almost enough to make him forget about the Lughnasadh Ball. Almost.

“Harry?” Ron's voice snapped him out of his daze. Harry turned to see him standing uncertainly on the stairs that led out of their seventh year dormitory. “You coming?” 

“I—yeah,” Harry forced a small smile, “in a minute.” Harry watched Ron eye him curiously, then disappeared down the tower's staircase. Harry turned back to the empty dormitory, and felt a small pang in his chest. Empty wardrobes, stripped four-posters, and yet Harry could all but see the mad memories he had made in this room. Insane wrestling matches that never ended well, swapping chocolate frog cards, Christmases long past...Harry couldn't stop thinking about everything. It had gone by so quickly, and he almost felt as though he'd never stopped long enough to appreciate the years he had spent in the castle.

But now, it was all over. He felt as though his entire life had been leading up to the first of August. What would happen after, he had no idea. He'd been so busy trying to  _not_ think about August, and Draco, and the stupid betrothal, all his determined not-thinking seemed to make it come closer in leaps and bounds. 

And, of course, things with Draco had been weird all year to begin with.

Sirius had informed Harry at the beginning of the autumn term that given that now that he and Draco were both of age, the Contract viewed them both as adults.

  
  


“This means,” Sirius had said, “that you and Draco can associate with one another outside our supervision, if you want to.” 

  
  


Ha! Harry almost laughed at the memory. As if he had a burning desire to spend  _more_ time with that git.

Unfortunately, Draco seemed to see this new freedom rather differently. Though far from his usual attitude of humiliating or ignoring Harry as he'd done in summers past, he instead sought out Harry's company when he knew Harry would be alone.

The first few times, Harry had genuinely expected the other teen to hex him, or attack him, or  _something._ Instead, the silver-white Slytherin would stalk forward, all smooth, languid movements, and pin Harry to the nearest flat surface. He learned early on that Draco was an amazing kisser. 

The problem was, Harry didn't  _want_ to like Draco, or his kissing, or anything else about the little shit. 

He'd spent  _years_ being harassed by him, and suddenly Draco wanted to kiss and make up? It was deeply unsettling. 

“I can't help it Potter,” Draco would purr after Harry had wrenched himself away from him, “you grew up pretty.” He would smirk in that self-satisfied Malfoy sort of way, and stalk off without a backward glance. 

The  _Pretty_ remarks left Harry feeling both hot all over, and deeply ashamed. In many ways, he felt like that descriptor absolutely didn't apply to him, and it also felt demeaning. Girls were pretty, not boys. Did Draco see him as some kind of...womanish man? 

With or without the cutting remarks, Harry struggled to completely stifle his growing desire every time they shared an encounter. Puberty had not been entirely unkind to Draco, and more than once the Slytherin had snuck in to Harry's more erotic dream sequences, which always made him wake up gasping and sticky.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry hardly noticed where he was going as he descended the steps of the dormitories and slipped out of the portrait hole for the last time, barely glancing up as he went. He did, however, notice when he walked straight into someone, they holding their ground so firmly that Harry lost his balance and fell back onto his buttocks.

“Damn, I'm sorr—” Harry cut himself off as he looked up and saw Snape in front of him, towering over him with his arms crossed and regarding Harry with a cool, blank stare. Much to his surprise, Snape reached forward and dragged Harry to his feet.

“Perhaps in the future it would be advisable that you _watch_ where you are going, Mr Potter, instead of studying the intricate details of your shoes.” Something in Snape's normally scathing tone seemed muted, somehow, and Harry eyed him quizzically. Snape's hand was still lightly grasping his forearm, and he seemed almost reluctant to let go. He narrowed his eyes at Harry, and Harry swallowed, refusing to let Snape intimidate him, not anymore.

“I'll try and remember that, _sir_ ,” Harry said in as even a tone as he could manage, while he pulled his forearm out of the man's grip, and the gesture seemed to anger the Potions Master for some reason. Harry hesitated for a moment longer, then hurried past Snape and rushed to the carriages waiting outside.  
  


~*~

 

The ridiculous nostalgia of the seventh years on the Hogsmeade platform was enough to temporarily distract Harry from his uncertain future. People hugged, cried, and made empty promises of staying in touch, and Harry exchanged more than one bewildered look with Ron as Hermione got particularly teary as she hugged Parvati and Lavender (much to Harry and Ron's dual shock) goodbye. Harry glanced away from the scene and his eyes momentarily caught Draco's through the cluster of over-emotional bodies, and he gave Harry a small nod and a wink. The fact that Draco had slipped into his dreams again the night before definitely didn't help him keep his composure, and he quickly looked away.

“Harry, are you all right? You look very red.” Harry spun around and saw Hermione eyeing him with concern and thinly veiled suspicion. 

“Er, yeah, I'm fine,” he said quickly as panic began to bubble in his chest again. _I suppose it's now or never_ , Harry thought as he climbed onto the train with his trunk and Hedwig, and struggled to get a handle on his flush. Ron and Hermione followed him onto the train, more slowly as they tried to navigate through the clusters of bodies, trunks, and cages.

Harry found a compartment near the back of the train that was completely empty, brushing off more than one person along the way who had attempted to join them. His frayed nerves left little room to feel guilty about the hurt looks Neville, Ginny, and Luna gave him at his brush-offs. Ron and Hermione followed him in, and he stacked up his trunk and Hedwig's cage near the window. He opened and closed his fists repeatedly in an attempt to quell the trembling, though it did very little to actually calm him down.

Harry took every excuse that presented itself to postpone his Big Reveal.

He bought everyone pumpkin pasties, he played several games of Exploding Snap with Ron, while Hermione buried her nose in a thick volume and tutted as their games grew more and more raucous with every rematch.

Harry glanced up after the fifth game, and felt his throat tighten. They were already halfway to King's Cross, and Harry felt himself wondering again,  _where had the time gone?_ He pulled back from the game, and raked his fingers through his hair, making it even messier than usual.

“Er, I have to tell you guys something,” Harry said suddenly, and Ron looked up from the cards he had been shuffling, his brow furrowed, and Hermione's face emerged from behind her book. “I—I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for a while, but I, er, didn't exactly know how.” He paused, gnawing the inside of his cheek nervously. Was he really ready to do this?

“Spit it out Harry,” Ron said after a moment of tense silence, “you look like somebody died.” Harry almost laughed. _Yeah, I wish._

He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath to steady himself before he finally began to speak.

“When I was little, my aunt and uncle signed me up for a—er—Rite of Betrothal,” Harry said, and he could feel himself going red, and he buried his face in his hands. The only sound that Harry could hear was the steady _chug chug_ of the train, and the muffled chatter of people outside their compartment.

“ _What_? Harry are you absolutely sure?” Ron sounded aghast, and for once, Hermione was quiet. Harry nodded mutely, his face still in his hands. 

“Wait, betrothal? Harry, you're engaged to someone?” Hermione sounded confused, and Harry could hear Ron sputter with shock.

“It's more than that Hermione,” Ron said seriously, ignoring the fact that Harry still had his face buried in his hands in an attempt to hide the fact that he had gone bright red. “It's a binding magical contract set up by Harry's guardians and the Ministry. There's absolutely no way to break it. I've heard of people actually _dying_ when they tried to break their contract, or if they postponed the bonding ceremony for too long.”

“Oh Ron, don't be so dramatic,” Hermione said dismissively, “it can't be _that_ bad, can it Harry?”

“Believe me,” Harry mumbled into his hands, “it's bad.”

“Who's the lucky bloke?” Ron asked, and at this Harry's hands fell from his face, and he jerked so sharply at Ron's words that he almost toppled out of his seat in shock. Ron didn't even have the good form to hide his grin.

“How did—I mean,—why did, I mean—”

“Harry, _breathe,_ ” Hermione said gently while she reached forward and gripped one of his hands in an attempt to calm him. 

“You don't think you weren't being discreet about it, did you mate? You checked out Diggory's arse enough times in fourth year.”

“This is a _nightmare,_ ” Harry groaned, and buried his face in his hands again. Hermione huffed impatiently and pried his hands away from his face.

“Really, Harry, you're being ridiculous. Just tell us: _who is it_?” She asked, and Harry looked from Ron's amused expression to Hermione's concerned one and back again. Was he really going to do this? He felt like he had better chances of facing off with a horde of Blast-Ended Skrewts and coming out alive.

“Er, Draco Malfoy?” His voice sounded very small.

Their reactions were so predictable that if Harry hadn't been so mortified by it all he might have laughed.

Hermione's eyes went wide and she clapped her hands to her mouth, and Ron's mouth dropped open, doing a remarkable impression of a basking shark.

“Harry, are you _sure_?” Hermione asked.

“Draco _Malfoy_?” Ron sputtered.

“Why didn't you _tell us_?”

“Draco effing _Malfoy?!”_

“It's not like I had a choice!” Harry snapped more angrily than he had intended, and they both went silent. 

“I've been forced to hang out with him for one week a year for the last twelve years,” Harry raged while he threw up his arms in frustration. “We _loathe_ each other. When I was five, he led me into the woods and _left_ me there. When I was seven, he stole Lucius's wand and set my hair on fire! When I was twelve he almost got me killed by his mother's prized venomous tentacula! Do you think I'm _happy_ about this?” Harry couldn't remember when he had stood up, or when he started yelling. Both Ron and Hermione had gone very quiet. 

Harry sat back down, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm down, though it didn't help much. “I don't want to do this. The only good thing that ever came out of this whole mess is that I got to start living with Sirius and Remus when I was really small. Before that I was living in a fucking cupboard.” He looked out the window, and away from their mute shock. “I don't want to do this,” Harry repeated, though more softly. “I  _really_ don't, but I have absolutely no choice.”

“What about Sirius?” Hermione asked in a very small voice, clearly afraid that Harry would start yelling again, “he can't be exactly happy about this. I mean...” she trailed off, and watched him cautiously. 

“Even if he wanted to do anything, he can't. Y'know, unless he wants to off his godson,” Ron cut in, and Hermione rolled her eyes. The ginger offered Harry an apologetic half-smile.

“Sirius said he tried to stop it,” Harry said, “but since he's not my legal guardian, there wasn't much he could do. Maybe if Dumbledore—” he cut himself off and shook his head. His feelings towards the old headmaster were so conflicted that he had no idea how to finish the thought. 

“Dumbledore was only doing what he thought was best,” Hermione said, her voice soft and sad. Not that he could blame her, the man had been dead for almost a year, but it still felt like a bad omen to speak ill of him. “I'm sure he didn't mean for things to turn out this way...”

“Yeah, I'm sure it was a brilliant idea to let me stay with people who hate me, and treat me like crap, and then tell my...tell Sirius and Remus to not tell me _anything_ about the wizarding world. It makes _no_ sense, Hermione.” Harry wasn't entirely sure why he was suddenly so angry, but he was secretly grateful that they had deviated so far from his revelation. He wasn't exactly keen to talk about it.

“I'm with Harry,” Ron said, unwrapping a chocolate frog as he spoke, “what kind of kid wants to grow up like that? Even if Harry _had_ known about everything, it's not like he's daft enough to go looking for trouble.”

“I never had to,” Harry replied with a small laugh, “trouble usually finds _me._ ”

 


	9. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I may have stolen some dialogue from Queer As Folk (American Version) for this chapter. Some of the bits in this chapter might come off as a little cheesy, or cute, depending on your viewpoint. Thanks everyone for the comments, kudos, bookmarks and everything else. I really appreciate it!

Chapter 9 – Preparations

 

They arrived at King's Cross Station far too quickly for Harry's taste. He had gone over the details of the contract with Ron and Hermione at least half a dozen times, and Hermione had been adamant that there had to be a way to break the contract safely, while Ron scoffed and offered unhelpful commentary.

“Yeah, brilliant,” he said, “if you want to off Harry, then go right ahead.” Hermione's frustration would flare, and Harry watched the pair of them get so caught up in their own bickering match that they seemed to momentarily forget that he was even there. Harry sank back into his seat at these times and patiently waited for their anger to burn out.

When Harry got off the train, his gloom was hanging over his head like a rain cloud. He did not fail to notice that his friends were watching him like one might watch the last walk of a condemned man, and Harry had no idea whether he should be irritated at this or not.

Draco exited the train two cars over, and in his peripheral vision he saw Ron lurch forward. He and Hermione, both sensing the danger, reached out to grab him.

“Don't,” Harry muttered to him, determinedly not looking over to Draco, “it's not worth it.”

“You probably won't need to bond with the git if he's dead,” Ron murmured back in protest, “or at least horribly disfigured.” Harry snorted, and Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“C'mon,” Harry said, ignoring Ron's comment, and led the way to the barrier.

Outside, he found Sirius and Remus waiting for him, and despite the ever-present melancholy that had plagued him since early that morning, he couldn't help but smile. It was a nice feeling to see people  _happy_ to see him for a change, instead of the slumped, ill-tempered form of Uncle Vernon waiting to take him “home” for several weeks of misery.

“Harry,” Sirius said in greeting before he pulled him in for a one-armed hug, “end of term went well?”

“You mean despite a certain someone's pestering and nagging?” Harry grinned at Sirius's abashed smile. Remus chuckled while he watched the exchange with his arms crossed. He nodded over Harry's shoulder, and he saw Ron and Hermione come into view behind him. The group shifted out of the way of the barrier, his two friends looking slightly apprehensive, as if they didn't know what to say.

“They know,” Harry filled in after a moment of awkward silence. Sirius had stepped back, and he exchanged a look of mild surprise with Remus. They both looked over to his friends, who gazed back at his guardians with questioning and angry looks. Sirius deflated a little, and his guilt was obvious to Harry, though he wasn't entirely certain if Ron and Hermione had noticed it.

“If it makes you both feel any better, we want this about as much as you two do. I suppose it doesn't look that way because Remus and I have had time to get used to the idea,” Sirius said, while Remus reached out and clasped his husband's hand, and Harry did not fail to notice more than a few muggles look back at them with a scowl of disapproval, which everyone assembled completely ignored. “But Ron, you at least understand the implications of breaking the contract at this stage. It could kill Harry, Draco, or both of them.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ron replied at once with a frown. Hermione looked like she wanted to protest, but Ron gave her a significant look, and for once, she fell silent. “I think I'd be more okay with it if he wasn't gonna be bonded to an evil git.”

Harry and Sirius both snorted with repressed laughter at the same time, while Remus and Hermione looked on with eerily mirrored looks of disapproval.

“I'll try and get you invites to this _Lughnasadh_ thing,” Harry said after a moment, cringing inwardly at the words. “It'd be nice to have someone around that isn't a prejudiced bastard.”

“We'd love to,” Hermione replied at once, smiling warmly, while she reached in for a tight hug. For a split second, Harry worried that she might not let go, but then she pulled back. He could see how forced the smile was, and her eyes looked so sad that he felt his stomach twist guiltily, though he couldn't quite pinpoint why he felt _guilty_. “There's mum and dad,” she said after a moment, “I better go. Write me this summer, yeah?”

“Definitely,” Harry replied, and smiled as he watched her hurry off towards her parents. He then noticed a cluster of flaming red hair coming towards them, and he smiled as he recognized Mrs Weasley, Mr Weasley, Ginny, Fred, and George approaching them. 

“Harry dear,” Mrs Weasley said in greeting, and pulled him in for a warm hug. “Did you have a good term?”

“I—yeah, it was fine,” Harry replied as he smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way, but her eyes still looked a little sad. _Did she know?_

“I know you have a busy summer ahead of you, but do try and come visit us, dear. We'd love to have you again.” The twins exchanged muted smirks behind their mother's back, and Harry felt his stomach drop a little. _Oh yeah,_ he thought to himself, _they definitely know_.

“I'd like that Mrs Weasley,” Harry replied, meaning it. She smiled and pulled him in for another hug.

“Take care of yourself, Harry,” Mr Weasley said, and reached out to grab his shoulder after his wife had let him go. Harry nodded, hoping his smile appeared more genuine than it felt to him. Mr Weasley released his shoulder and he shook hands with both Sirius and Remus, before bidding him one last farewell as the family turned and headed towards the exits. Ron turned back once, and offered him a small smile and a half-wave.

“C'mon Harry,” Sirius said with a small grin, grasping his shoulder, “let's go home.” Harry smiled, and felt some of his gloom leave him at those words.  
  


~*~

 

The trip home was much faster than normal, given that Harry could now legally apparate.

Sirius helped Harry carry his trunk inside the building, then Harry used a levitation charm to manoeuvre it up the many flights of stairs and into the flat.

The inside was just how Harry had remembered it. Mismatched armchairs and a threadbare sofa before a crackling fire, old and fraying carpets covering the cold stone, and a warm feeling of  _home._ Harry could also smell something wonderful. He loved Remus's cooking, which almost put Mrs Weasley's to shame—not that he was ever brave enough to ever tell her so.

“Hungry?” Sirius asked as he set Harry's trunk next to the door. Harry placed Hedwig down next to it, opened the cage door and she fluttered out to join Archimedes on top of one of the bookcases. The ancient, half blind owl squawked and clicked his beak irritably at Hedwig before they both settled down together, Hedwig careful to give the cranky old thing some space. 

“Starving,” he replied with a small grin, “what's on? It smells great.” He fell into step with Sirius, and saw a large serving pot of lamb stew on the table, charmed to stay hot, as well as a loaf of fresh bread. Next to his usual place setting was a small square something, wrapped roughly in light brown paper. He turned to look at them, then reached out to pick up the small parcel. “What's this?”

“Something of a welcome home present,” Sirius said, his mouth twitching a little in the corners. “Go on, open it.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then tore away the paper. In his hands was a journal with a glossy leather cover, though after a moment he noticed the faint green sheen the leather seemed to carry, and he realized that it wasn't leather, but dragonhide. Harry loosed the clasp that held it closed to look inside, and indented in gold on the inside cover were the initials, 'H.J.P.L.B'.

Harry blinked in confusion, then looked back up to the pair.

“What...?” Harry didn't know exactly what he wanted to ask.

Neither of the men answered for a moment, then Sirius reached inside his robes and pulled out a slightly creased scroll of parchment.

“You're technically of age,” Sirius explained, “but we've been wanting to do this for a long time...” he passed the scroll to Harry for him to read, and he nearly dropped the journal in his hands from shock. 

The parchment was a Ministry form, and across the top it read, ' _Petition for Adoption_ '. 

“Since you're an adult, we'd need your consent,” Sirius finished, and his attempt at a nonchalant tone did not completely conceal his nervousness at how Harry might react.

Instead of answering, Harry sat down with the form and his new journal, opened it to the first page, and grabbed a self-inking quill off the counter.

“Today,” Harry said as he wrote, “Sirius and Remus asked me to be their son,” he paused and looked up at them. “And I said yes.” 

It was the best night of Harry's life. He ate, drank and celebrated with his new, official, legal family—not just guardians, not just in name. They sent off Hedwig with the signed papers right away, and Harry had never before felt such excitement in sending off owl post. Remus rounded off the evening with a celebratory toast of expensive champagne and a sumptuous opera cake, and Sirius shot off a few close-range fireworks with his wand.

Harry went to bed that night exhausted but perfectly happy for the first time in weeks. He promised himself to remember to send Hedwig to Ron and Hermione with the news when she got back, and fell asleep that night with a smile spread across his face.

 

~*~

 

As the Summer began to progress, Harry's joy began to ebb, and his dread surrounding his betrothal returned. It was just over a month until the Ball where his bonding would be announced, and Sirius and Remus punctuated his lazy summer relaxation with classical dance lessons, fussing over the  _perfect_ dress robes for the occasion, and his morning lie-ins were interrupted more than once by howlers from Lucius as the two sets of parents argued over whom to invite.

Harry was grateful that he had Ron and Hermione to vent to at least, even if they had no idea how to advise him. More than once, it helped to reign in his burning desire to suffocate Sirius and Remus with a pillow, but did little in the way of helping him get through the near-constant nagging, nor their reprimands whenever he dared scoff at their attitude towards the whole thing.

“Harry,” Sirius, Remus, or the pair of them had told him on more than one occasion, “this evening is extremely important. It's essential that you make the right impression.” Harry would roll his eyes every time they said this, but offered up no verbal complaints, not exactly keen to be told off—again.

No word of the so-called 'main event' of the evening had made the papers. The Ball had been mentioned several times, and Harry supposed someone—Lucius, most likely—was forcing the  _Prophet_ to keep it quiet. Harry was grateful for that; he was definitely not looking forward to the paparazzi firestorm that would inevitably follow the announcement of his engagement to  _Draco Malfoy_ .

Halfway through July, Harry found himself standing on a small stool in the centre of the sitting room, an enormous pile of dress robes draped over the sofa, with Madam Malkin tutting and circling him, while Sirius and Remus stood out of hexing reach (after Harry had hit them both with a particularly well-aimed Silencing Charm) and threw in comments and criticism.

“No, the red is too flashy...”

“It needs to be tighter across the chest...”

“Are you sure the neckline isn't too deep?”

“ _No sequins, Remus!_ ”

“Would you two _stop_?” Harry finally snapped at the pair of them, after shrugging out of a particularly itchy and tight set of robes. “I'm not a bloody doll. Draco and I won't like each other any better even if we're both in designer robes.” He shuddered a little as images of what he assumed a wizarding fashion show would look like, with himself in various horrid 'fashion' robes popped into his head. 

“All right, sorry, Harry,” Remus smirked a little at his outburst. It was a strange expression to see on a man that was normally so _zen_. Harry had no idea what that expression was supposed to mean, but he resigned himself to trying on more clothes than he probably ever had in his entire life. Sirius and Remus nodded or shook their heads at each new outfit he was supposed to try, though they offered no more remarks.

Harry almost cheered when he was told he could get down. He rushed into his T-shirt and jeans before anyone could change their minds, and Madam Malkin flicked her wand to arrange the robes in a neat stack, then shrunk them to the size of a glove before she stowed them in a drawstring bag.

“Gentlemen,” she said, nodding to each of them in turn, “I will go over the adjustments you wanted, and I will be in touch next week.” She smiled at Harry, and he felt his face tint pink when he saw her eyes flick momentarily to his scar.

“I can't wait,” Harry muttered, and he was relieved when the elderly witch finally took her leave. 

 

~*~

 

“Harry, I know it's not exactly _fun_ but don't you think you're being a little, well, overdramatic?” 

Harry was sitting in his bedroom with the door shut. Ron and Hermione were sitting across from him, a jar of Hermione's trademark blue flames crackling merrily in a jam jar between them. Harry didn't immediately answer Hermione's question, and instead chose to glare sullenly at the tiny fire.

“It's a nightmare, Hermione,” he said at last, “they're acting like Ron's mum did leading up to Bill and Fleur's wedding.” Harry looked up to watch their expressions shift from mild disbelief to outright horror. “Except about a hundred times worse. They keep dressing me up like a goddamn doll or something—as if Draco will like me any better in blue, or green, or whatever next horrific set of robes they make me try on.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, but neither spoke right away. Harry took the opportunity to fill the silence with more complaining.

“Oh, guess what they're making me do next week? A makeover. Haircut, facial, manicure, pedicure...” Harry shuddered. “I'm starting to wonder if hexing them until this is all over isn't such a terrible idea, after all.” Hermione pursed his lips as Ron snickered next to her. After a moment, her face softening a little as Ron reached out and twisted a few of his fingers with hers.

“They just want you to look your best for your big night,” Ron said, unable to completely erase the amusement from his voice. Harry pelted him with a wrapped chocolate frog, and he caught it with a small smirk as he continued, “anyway, it's not so bad. Mum made Bill do all that before his wedding. It's not like they paint your nails magenta or anything, they just clean you up a bit, that's all.” This information made Harry relax a little, though he still didn't love the idea of a stranger pawing at his hands and feet for an hour.

 

Around midday, Remus knocked and came in with sandwiches.

“Thanks mum,” Harry said with a grin to his retreating figure, and the comment earned him a light smack upside the head, while Ron snickered softly.

“He hates it when I call him that,” Harry explained as he helped himself to one of the sandwiches.

“I'll bet,” Ron replied with another short laugh, though it was muffled by his overlarge mouthful of roast beef.

“Really,” Hermione said with a small huff, “you shouldn't do that, Harry. It's really rude!”

“Do what?”

“Assign gender roles to Sirius and Remus as if one _has_ to be the mother figure and the other _has_ to be the father figure!”

“I'm not! If anything, Sirius is the mother hen here, but Remus does all the cooking like your mum does,” Harry said while nodding towards Ron, “it's just fun to poke fun at him about it from time to time, that's all. It's not like I actually mean anything by it.”

“Sirius? Really? I'd assume he'd be more...I dunno, gruff, or something.” Harry snorted at Hermione's statement.

“Yeah, I wish.” 

 

Ron and Hermione stuck around for the rest of the day, making polite small talk over dinner with Sirius and Remus. They pointedly discussed anything but the enormous pile of dress robes Sirius had brought home with him. They stuck to safe topics instead—Hermione's plans to attend Muggle University, Ron's upcoming internship with the Auror Office, while skittering close to the topic of the upcoming Ball, but never actually going into it.

Harry was grateful for that, as beyond the upcoming Lughnasadh Ball—which still made him want to run away screaming—he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. He hadn't had a whole lot of time to consider it, and while at one time he wanted to join the Aurors with Ron, now he wasn't so sure.

Remus and Sirius had reminded him on more than one occasion that he didn't have to choose right away, and had hinted that he wouldn't  _have_ to work if he didn't want to. The Malfoy fortune he would inherit would probably keep him set for life, but the idea made Harry feel sick with a strange sense of guilt. He had always taken care of himself, more or less. He didn't like the idea of relying on anyone else like that.

When his friends had departed, Hermione Apparating, and Ron travelling by Floo back to The Burrow, Harry suddenly found himself alone with his parents, and a terrifying stack of robes.

“Breathe, Harry,” Sirius said with an amused grin, “we'll go through those tomorrow, all right?”

' _There is a God_ ,' Harry thought, and smiled a little at them. “Thanks. I'm gonna go read or something.” 

He headed for his room before they could change their minds, and fell into bed. Harry rolled onto his side, left arm folded under his head, and he stared at the wardrobe across the room.

It was no longer the same beech wardrobe that had been there when he first arrived so many years before, and it had since been replaced with an oak one. There was a slight burn mark near the right handle, and there were indentations that had been varnished over, small reminders of the piece of furniture's age. Next to it, his trunk had been propped up. It had been emptied several weeks earlier, and looking at it now, Harry felt a strange pang of sadness. The trunk had seen him through the last seven years, and somehow knowing he wouldn't need it for the foreseeable future made him feel, if possible, even more depressed. He didn't move, but his eyes flicked across the belongings scattered around the room, feeling suddenly, strangely nostalgic at the sight of everything. Would this still be his home after the Ball?

Harry dozed, but didn't exactly sleep. He had forgotten to take off his glasses, and they had left angry red lines near his temples.

Groaning a bit, Harry sat up, took his glasses off, and set them down on the side table while he stretched, bones in his back and shoulders popping and cracking out their stiffness. He slipped off the bed and rubbed at the sore marks that had been left on his face, while he walked to his wardrobe. He fished out his pyjamas and had every intention of going back to sleep, but he paused when he heard a loud objection that could only come from his godfather.

Harry paused to listen, but the muffled sounds of Sirius and Remus's voices were suddenly too soft for Harry to hear clearly. While he knew he shouldn't, he pulled the pyjamas on as he pondered indulging his curiosity, or giving his parents their due privacy. Caving to his curiosity, Harry padded over to the door silently, he turned the handle as quietly as he could, and opened the door barely a hairline crack, and a thin line of flickering firelight spread over his bedroom floor. The sound wasn't much better, and Harry found himself wishing for a pair of Extendable Ears. He slid to the ground and pressed his ear against the tiny gap in an effort to hear them more clearly.

“Sirius, I'm just trying to look at this objectively.” 

“ _Objectively?_ ” He heard Sirius hiss in obvious anger, “Remus, you know damn well that we didn't sign those papers just because of the Rite.”

“I _know,_ but it's just a precaution. After the debacle at the end of last year when those Death Eaters murdered Albus we need to make sure that the Dark forces think that it's just a legality, and that he still has Lily's protection. I don't like it any better than you do.”

“It's still fucking cold. How could we possibly tell Harry that? It's bad enough that he has to go through with this betrothal against his will, he'll think we never actually wanted him. I _won't_ do that to him Remus, we've done enough damage already.” Harry heard a soft clink of a glass slamming down against the wooden table. 

“Would you rather the bloodbath that would follow if a hoard of active Death Eaters showed up at the Lughnasadh Ball?”

“No, I suppose not,” Sirius paused, “but I won't lie to him about it. I won't do that to him anymore.” If Remus replied, Harry didn't hear it over the strange buzzing that seemed to suddenly fill his head.

Harry slid to the floor, and did not bother to try stifling the burning behind his eyes. He hid his face in his hands, and struggled to breathe; it felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. He distantly heard his  _parents_ (how he used to love that word) get up and head to their bedroom, still muttering to one another heatedly. Harry swallowed his cries of anguish and frustration, while his entire form trembled.

 

 


	10. Admissions and Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the last chapter I'll be able to post for a few days. I'm sorry guys! As previously stated, I don't have internet at home, and my job is really physically demanding (I'm a farmhand) so I'm just too tired to trek to the library after work. Next chapter will be up May 1st, 2k16. Until then, enjoy!

Chapter 10 – Admissions and Surprises

 

Harry didn't say a word about the conversation he'd overheard to anyone.

After what he'd heard, he found it extremely difficult to shut off his mind and sleep each night. He brushed off Sirius and Remus's frequent comments that he did not look well, he tried on dress robe after dress robe without a word of complaint, and escaped to his bedroom at the earliest opportunity.

Ten days before the Ball, Harry's meditative state—where he was going over what he had heard for the hundredth time—was broken when he felt a weight at the end of his bed. He blinked a few times, and turned to see Remus sitting there, smiling at him placidly. For a moment, Harry wondered how he had failed to notice him coming in, but his train of thought was interrupted almost at once by the older man.

“Harry, is everything all right? You haven't been yourself this past week, and you seem depressed.”

“I'm grand, Remus. Spectacular. My life is a happy candyland where every day is sunshine and rainbows,” Harry replied monotonously, and shifted his gaze back to the bedroom wall. “Why would I be depressed? My whole life is being planned out for me. I've only ever lived with people who don't want me around. Why would anything be wrong?” His breath hitched a little, but he swallowed the sob that threatened to slip out. He'd never cried in front of anyone, and he wasn't about to start now.

“Harry, what on earth are you talking about? Sirius and I love having you here.” He felt Remus's hand go to touch his shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but Harry flinched away from the contact as though he'd been burned. He felt Remus lean back into his original sitting position, still refusing to look directly at the older man. 

“Why would you adopt me if you didn't want me?” Harry asked. His voice was barely above a whisper, and he felt as though something inside him had snapped. He trembled, teetering precariously between blind rage and choking anguish. 

“You overheard us, didn't you?” Remus asked after several minutes of tense silence. Harry felt as though his throat had closed, and he nodded silently. 

“Harry, what you need to understand is that we have been petitioning for your adoption for twelve years,” Remus said, and Harry turned towards him while he rubbed roughly at the corners his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper. Remus was staring back at him with a sad, guilty look that Harry knew could not possibly be feigned—he genuinely _was_ sorry. “We were rejected _every_ time. Albus maintained that it was essential for you to stay... _there_ , to keep it a safe haven for you until you came of age.” The corner of his mouth twitched slightly into a bitter smile. 

“Last summer after...after your birthday, we tried again,” Remus continued, “we thought the way was clear, but we felt that it would be a bad idea for it to be known publicly that you no longer live with your blood relatives.” He looked away from Harry, and he could see the shame written all over his face. “We decided that we would follow through with the adoption, but maintain a public image that we were only doing it to make the Bonding Rite proceedings easier.

“Sirius, as you can imagine, hates putting forth the illusion that we only did it for the Rite, and not because we actually wanted you,” Remus continued, his voice now more than a little hoarse as he spoke. “You need to know Harry, first and foremost, we see you as our son.” Remus paused, and looked back to Harry, his expression almost distraught with guilt. “We both love you very much, we're just trying to keep you safe. We know that you haven't had the easiest time—” Harry snorted. _Understatement of the year,_ he thought. “—but everything we've done was to keep you safe.” Remus paused again, and the guilt written all over the man's face made Harry's stomach clench with remorse for how he had reacted, but Remus continued to speak before he could interject. 

“Our most important job,” he said, “more than anything else, is making sure that you're safe, healthy, and happy. I'm not saying the way Albus or we approached the situation was right, but...” he trailed off and shook his head sadly, as though he was uncertain how to finish the statement.

Remus was not a hugger.

Harry was well aware of that. While Sirius had always been fairly open with physical contact, hugging Harry, picking him up and carrying him when he was little, Remus had always been more reserved. Harry could only recall seeing Remus kiss Sirius once or twice in the past seven years. In that moment however, Harry could not bring himself to respect the man's personal bubble, and he lurched forward to hug him tightly.

“I'm sorry,” Harry whispered softly, and when he felt Remus's arms press into his back, his knot of misery seemed to dissolve.

  
  


~*~

  
  


After his and Remus's conversation, Harry felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

At times, it was still difficult to deal with, his mind retreating back to the conversation he had overheard, and it occasionally took time for Harry to convince himself that he was actually wanted at home. Given that he had spent a good chunk of time being used to the feeling of  _not_ being wanted around, it was a very strange concept to wrap his mind around.

At the same time, he remembered with a wave of panic that the Ball was in one week. The three of them had finally agreed on a set of dress robes, after three more exhausting sessions with Madam Malkin. He'd been put through his makeover, and it was as painless as Ron had promised.

The week flew past much more quickly than Harry would have liked, punctuated with letters from both Ron and Hermione, promising that they would indeed be at the Ball, and to stay calm.

 

_Just breathe mate,_ Ron wrote,  _it'll be mad enough without you completely losing your head. Hermione promised to drop a bagful of dungbombs if it gets too bad for you. I think Fred and George have had a bad influence on her..._

 

_Harry,_ wrote Hermione,  _just pretend it's the Yule Ball back at Hogwarts or something, and don't let Malfoy get to you. I've been looking into this Rite thing, and it looks like Ron was right, it's not easy to break. I read in_ Wizarding Rites and Traditions of the Twentieth Century _some accounts of people who tried to break their contract and it definitely wasn't pleasant. I'll keep looking though, there must be a way to get you out of this..._

 

Harry appreciated her determination, though he privately hoped she wouldn't turn it into another one of her crusades. He could almost see her marching back and forth in front of the Ministry entrance with a huge placard demanding his contract be broken, and he shuddered. The last thing he needed was  _more_ publicity.

The day before the Ball, Harry woke and felt a rush of jumbled emotions rush through him in quick succession: absolute panic, dread, and then a flicker of happiness as he remembered belatedly that it was his birthday.

Of course, his birthdays hadn't always been fun, but he felt determined to enjoy this one. This proved even more difficult than it normally would have—with the Ball looming ahead of him, it felt more like an execution than a celebration.

In a half-asleep daze, he shuffled to the bathroom to shower, shave, and dress, and then traipsed to the kitchen for breakfast.

“Ah there's the birthday boy!” cried Sirius, throwing his arms in the air in clearly was intended to be a celebratory gesture.

“Hooray,” Harry mumbled as he sat down heavily. _It's too early for this shit_ , he thought, stifling another yawn as he reached for the coffee.

“At least _eat_ something if you're going to drink that,” Remus said while he pushed a plate of buttered toast towards him. Harry accepted it grudgingly; his stomach felt too knotted up with fear and dread to properly eat, and he pushed it away after a few bites. 

The few sips of coffee Harry had drunk seemed to feed enough caffeine into his system to properly rouse him. He then nursed it halfheartedly while he tried to not think about the following day, with little success.

“So, Harry,” Sirius prompted, “you're considered an adult in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds now, feel any different?”

“What I'm feeling is indigestion, mostly,” Harry replied sourly, and stifled another yawn with his hand, and rubbed his eyes before looked up at the pair, whose smiles had fallen a little. 

“I'm sorry,” Harry mumbled at once, and tried to reign in his bad mood, “I'm just stressed about tomorrow.” 

“Just forget about it for now, and try to enjoy your birthday,” Remus said with a small smile, and Harry nodded, though he didn't really believe the words.

“I'll try.” 

Harry was pleased that he was left to his own devices for a good portion of the day.

In the past, Harry could do pretty much whatever he wanted when he was home, but after he had begun to live there full-time, Sirius and Remus had given him a few chores to do. It was nothing compared to what the Dursleys had demanded of him, and he always did the few chores without complaint, but as it was his birthday, they let him take a day off from them. Instead, he spent the day by the fire, re-reading  _Flying With the Cannons_ for the fifteenth time, and grazed on a steady stream of Fizzing Whizzbees and chocolate frogs. He pointedly ignored Remus's gentle suggestions that he should eat something veggie green instead of gummi green, and would lazily Summon another bag of sweets from his room. 

At some point, Harry had migrated back to his bedroom, and in the early evening he heard Sirius calling his name. He walked out, and saw both he and Remus in travelling cloaks.

“Everything okay?” he asked uncertainly.

“We thought it'd be nice to go out for dinner for your birthday. Nothing fancy, I promise,” Sirius said while he grinned a little, and Remus elbowed him sharply. 

“All right...” Harry said as he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the pair, and he went back to his room to grab a jumper, and he threw it on over his T-shirt, then quickly brushed his teeth. When he got back he decided to try and get a less vague answer out of them. 

“Where are we going?” Harry asked when he rejoined the, in an effort to get a less vague answer out of them. His question was met with a conspiratorial grin from Sirius, and an enigmatic smile from Remus.

“It's a surprise,” Sirius replied at once, “we'll take you by Side-Along-Apparition, is that all right?” Harry had a funny feeling he knew what they were up to, but he still nodded, and Sirius grinned again. “Wonderful, let's go.”

One uncomfortably claustrophobic moment later, the blast of noise that greeted him verified Harry's suspicions at once.

“ _SURPRISE!_ ” 

Harry recognized where he was immediately.

The teetering multi-storey house was a dead giveaway, and in front of him he saw all the Weasleys, Hermione, Fleur Delacoeur, and Hagrid beaming at him. They had all cried out surprise at different times, they were laughing while Harry grinned at everyone assembled before him. He turned to Sirius, who was smiling at Harry somewhat sheepishly. Despite his almost overwhelming panic at what was coming, Harry couldn't help but smile.

“Happy Birthday Harry!” said Ginny, offering him a quick hug as the crowd began to disperse.

“Bonne Fête, 'Arry!” Fleur added, sweeping in to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Harry, look at yeh! Eighteen!” Hagrid said as he patted Harry on the back gently, though it was still enough to make his knees buckle.

The group dispersed slowly, offering more well wishes as they went. Harry looked around the garden once he had gotten over the initial shock, though he still wasn't entirely certain whether he wanted to thank Sirius or throttle him.

Three picnic tables that he recognized from more than one Weasley dinner were placed end to end with a white tablecloth draped over the lot, all of them positively groaning under the weight of Mrs Weasley's excellent cooking. Floating above it was a simple banner that read,  _Happy Birthday Harry._

The sentiment made hi go a little red, and Sirius chuckled, clapped him on the shoulder, then he and Remus headed off to join the others. Left before him was Molly Weasley, along with Ron and Hermione just behind her.

“Happy Birthday, Harry dear,” Mrs Weasley said, and pulled him in for a hug. Ron was grinning from behind his mother, while Hermione seemed to be teetering between excitement and nervousness. “I hope it wasn't too much of a shock, we just wanted you to have a real birthday.”

“I—it's great Mrs Weasley, really. Definitely wasn't expecting it,” Harry replied while he laughed a little, and she smiled warmly at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione relax and reach out to take Ron's hand.

Mrs Weasley headed off and began to usher everyone to the table, while Ron and Hermione fell into step with him.

“I hope you're not too upset, Harry,” Hermione said, “everyone was just so adamant about giving you a surprise party.”

“Yeah, I've got enough things jumping out at me, thanks,” Harry replied, and Ron laughed. “But it's okay, Hermione, it's nice. I've never had a surprise party before.” He saw their faces fall slightly, and Harry felt slightly uncomfortable. He hadn't intended for it to sound like he was looking for pity. Harry offered them an apologetic look as they settled down at the table, and the pair seemed to forget about Harry's comment as they dug into the sumptuous dinner. 

Harry had a funny feeling that either Sirius, Remus, Ron, or Hermione had talked to everyone else on his behalf, because throughout the dinner there was no mention of tomorrow.

A few times, it looked as though someone was going to ask, Percy in particular, but thankfully, he managed to curb his impulse. Harry happily talked Quidditch with Ron and Charlie, discussing which teams most likely to play in the World Cup, and the latest  _Firebolt_ model that had been unveiled the previous week. Hermione had turned to Percy and was talking animatedly with him about her University plans, while further down the table his parents were arguing with Mrs Weasley, most likely about Harry's weight—a favourite topic of hers; he always looked too peaky for her liking.

The evening was rounded off with an enormous chocolate cake decorated in Gryffindor colours, and a pile of presents that made Harry blush and grin joyfully in equal measure.

From Hermione he got a thick book about Wizarding Traditions, he assumed a more simplified version of the enormous tomes she had probably been poring over. Ron gave him a huge bag of dungbombs; from the twins he got an enormous box of Skiving Snackboxes; Hagrid gave him a lush feather quill, which upon closer inspection Harry realized was a Hippogriff feather.

The other Weasleys gave him small gifts, which included most of his favourite snacks. Remus gave him a pair of golden snitch cuff links, and his stomach twisted in momentary panic as he remembered  _tomorrow._ Sirius gave him a photo album, half filled with a jumble of pictures of his parents, as well as snapshots of his life with his adoptive parents. It took a great deal of effort to reign in the swell of emotion he felt upon receiving it and offer up a simple, “thank you.” His voice was much croakier than usual. 

Harry was fairly certain that he thanked everyone at least three times each, while they laughed and brushed off his thanks with warm, amused smiles. Harry felt slightly overwhelmed by the evening, but for once, in a good way. The initial shock had finally worn off, and he allowed himself to just enjoy the evening. He talked, joked, and shared his sweets with everyone, and as evening faded into night, Harry was so caught up in the festivities that he hardly noticed.

All too soon, Harry felt Sirius grip his shoulder, to draw his attention away from his friends.

“Time to go,” he said simply; Harry swallowed his protests and nodded. He could feel his anic return in full measure as he quickly thanked everyone in turn, went to join Remus and Sirius, and with his heart in his throat, they Disapparated.

 

 


	11. The Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: AREN'T YOU GUYS LUCKY THAT I ALMOST DIED AND NOW I'M ABLE TO POST THE NEXT CHAPTER EARLIER. Well, that might be a _slight_ exaggeration. Got into a bike accident, so I can't work for a couple days while my contusion heals. Anyway...
> 
> Fun fact: Lughnasadh or Lammas is a real holiday celebrated by modern wiccans and pagans. The traditions I follow/used for this story derive from a mixture of the Saex-Wica and Gardnerian Wicca traditions.
> 
> Lughnasadh (pronounced loo-nass-uh or loo-nass-ar) is celebrated on the 1st of August, and it is the first harvest of the Wheel Year. Traditionally the foods served are bounty of the harvest, so lotsa fruit, veggies, and grain usually. This is why the foods served at this 'Ball' are slightly different from typical British fare that is found in the canon HP books.

Chapter 11 – The Ball

 

The second they got home, Sirius plucked the Skiving Snackboxes from under Harry's arm and stowed them in a cupboard. He flicked his wand and closed it with a locking charm as well as an ordinary padlock.

“Damn, you've seen through my cunning plan,” Harry said sarcastically. 

“Call it insurance,” Sirius replied with a short laugh.

Harry stowed his other gifts in his room, and joined Sirius and Remus for a cup of tea before bed. Though he was full to bursting with cake and dread for tomorrow, the tea helped calm him—at least partially.

“I know you're not keen to talk about it, Harry,” Remus said ten minutes later, breaking the comfortable silence, “but we should go over tomorrow's schedule, just so you're clear on everything.” The reference to tomorrow made Harry's stomach clench nervously, but he nodded.

“The ball starts at six,” Sirius said, his voice a little more rough than usual, “but you can do whatever you like until about four, and then we'll help you get ready.”

“Sirius, I'm not a girl,” Harry said as he rolled his eyes. “I don't need _two hours_ to get ready for a ball.” Sirius glared at him.

“You need to wash, get your hair done, and get into your dress robes. You'll also need some time in your robes to get used to them, so that you're not fidgeting all night,” Sirius said simply, his tone making it clear that complaining would get him nowhere. Harry gritted his teeth, swallowing another snide remark that had bubbled up his throat, and merely nodded.

“At six, we'll get there and you and Draco will be escorted to separate rooms that connect to Lucius's ballroom,” Remus continued, picking up where Sirius had left off. “It's fairly similar to the ritual for The First Meeting, but with a few adjustments.” Remus rubbed his free hand against his jaw before he continued. “Lucius and Sirius will draw attention of the crowd, and announce the engagement of you and Draco. You'll both be introduced in turn, and when you hear your name, walk out, and you keep your eyes forward. No matter how many people you see, you need to pretend that they aren't there. You and Draco will meet in the centre of the dance floor, and you will bow to one another, kiss each other on the cheek, and walk to the head table hand in hand.

“After the meal,” Remus continued, “you and Draco will be expected to dance.” Some of Harry's distaste must have shown on his face, because Remus glowered at him all of a sudden. “Harry, these are ancient rituals passed down from wizard to wizard for generations. People will be extremely offended if you don't take it seriously, or refuse to follow the Rite's requirements.”

“I know, I know,” Harry said as he sat up and rubbed at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I'm still trying to work through the nervousness and we-hate-each-other thing. I swear, I'm not trying to be a prat.” Memories of his last not-entirely-unpleasant encounter with Draco floated to the forefront of his mind as he spoke, and he felt himself flush involuntarily.

“After that,” Sirius continued, “you two are expected to stay together for the rest of the evening, but it's not an official requirement, more like good form. Basically, after the dinner and dance, consider yourselves free,” Sirius paused for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “I've been told by Lucius that some of the other guests may ask you to dance. It's allowed, but don't feel obligated to dance if you really don't want to.”

“It's not strictly part of the tradition,” Remus added, “but it's a fairly common practice to dance with the betrothed. It's considered impolite to refuse, like not shaking someone's hand. Sirius is correct that it's not an obligation, but...” he trailed off, then added, “it's better to just accept.” 

“Great, so I'll get some good mileage out of those dance lessons,” Harry mumbled, his eyes deviating away from his adoptive parents to stare into the dancing flames in the grate. It was hard to ignore the annoyed glares that they were giving him.

It took Harry a long time to get to sleep that night. The anxiety over the coming day, paired with the excitement of his birthday had left him bodily exhausted, but his mind refused to turn off.

He dozed, first dreaming that he had accidentally shown up to the ball starkers. He could pick out faces in the crowd, pointing and laughing. When he managed to get back to sleep, he dreamed that he was dancing with Draco, who turned into Snape, leering at him unpleasantly. Harry jolted awake with a cry caught in his throat.  
  


~*~

 

“You look awful.” 

Harry slouched towards the breakfast table while he ignored his godfather's comment. He rested his forehead against the table, sitting up only when someone pushed a coffee cup almost directly under his nose.

“Didn't sleep well,” Harry mumbled between fortifying sips. He was too exhausted to even be properly freaked out about the coming evening, and felt as though his brain had been replaced with cotton.

“Yeah that's an understatement,” Sirius replied, “we heard you call out in your sleep more than once, that hasn't happened in a long time. Not since...” Sirius cut himself off, and Harry was thoroughly relieved that he chose to do so. He didn't need reminders of Cedric's death and the subsequent botched resurrection of Voldemort mixing in with his dread of the coming evening—it would be a little more than he could handle at that moment.

“What's on the itinerary for today?” Harry asked as he sat up a little straighter and rubbed his eyes. He served himself some eggs and toast, surprised that he was so hungry all of a sudden, as anxiety usually had the opposite effect on him. Harry noticed that following his question, both Remus and Sirius looked mildly irritated. “What?”

“We told you everything last night,” Sirius said tersely, “weren't you listening?”

“No.” 

“Harry—” Sirius let out a very dog-like growl, but Remus, apparently sensing danger, rested his hand over his bonded's. Sirius calmed a little, but still did not look overly pleased with Harry. 

“There was a lot going on yesterday, okay? And it was a lot to take in. It's not like I'm deliberately trying to be a pain in the arse—”

“—That'd be a first.”

“Oi!”

“Sirius,” Remus's voice carried with a tone of warning. “We can't exactly blame Harry for not remembering everything. It's probably extremely stressful.” Harry nodded fervently, latching on to the excuse desperately.

“It's not every day someone comes up to you and says, 'you whole life has been decided for you, have fun, don't muck it up.' I'd like to see _you_ try it.” Harry crossed his arms and turned away from them, glaring at the cooker, as though it too was nagging him.

“Harry, you're eighteen years old,” Sirius said exasperatedly, “you're too old to be pouting.” Harry ignored Sirius, though he did uncross his arms to grab his coffee cup. 

“Harry,” Harry turned to look at Remus when he said his name, but he pointedly refused to look towards Sirius, who reminded him very much of Mrs Weasley at the moment. “Today is going to be stressful enough without you two sniping at each other. Can you _please_ try to not take out your anger on us? We'd all like to get through today with a minimal amount of bloodshed.”

Harry felt his shoulders sag slightly, and he lifted a hand to massage his temples.

“I—yeah,” he said after a moment, and grimaced at Sirius, “sorry, Sirius.” His godfather huffed, but nodded. Harry had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.

 

~*~

 

' _Long day doesn't even bloody cover it_ ,' Harry thought mutinously several hours later, as he stared at himself in the long mirror. His hair was nothing short of a disaster, given that Sirius had gotten so fed up with it he had tried to curse it flat. Remus assured him that the bald patches—now covered with a tingly, pastel-green salve—would fill in before they were due to leave. He was grateful that Sirius had admitted defeat after that, and Remus helped him comb it enough so it at least didn't look like a bird's nest. 

The robes, much to Harry's surprise, looked good. The weeks of temper tantrums with Madam Malkin seemed to have done the trick, and he saw himself wearing black slacks and a fitted, button down shirt in a deep shade of green. Over it, Harry wore a fitted outer robe, solid black with green piping. He had pinned the snitch cuff links to the wrists of his shirt, and he liked the effect of the gold on the green. While most of the outer robe was fitted to show him off, the sleeves flared outward slightly, and would tumble down a few inches to show off the little snitches when he lifted his arms.

“What do you think, Harry?” 

Harry turned to face Remus, who had been easing back in an armchair and was watching Harry look over himself critically.

“I like it, but...were the Slytherin colours deliberate?” Harry asked with a small grimace; the Slytherin correlation bothered him more than he'd like to admit.

“The green goes with your eyes, and the black compliments your hair. No one would ever mistake Harry Potter for a Slytherin, believe me,” Remus said patiently. It was not the first time that day that they'd had this conversation.

“Okay then, yeah. I think I like it.” Harry wasn't sure whether or not he believed his own words, but it was a little late now to find something else to wear. He tugged at the robe uncertainly, and he heard Remus sigh audibly.

“Harry, you look _fine._ You have nothing to worry about,” Remus said with the same patient tone. Harry rubbed the back of his neck as he turned back to Remus, who looked more amused than annoyed with him, which made a nice change. Sirius, as it transpired, dealt with his stress very similarly to Harry, which resulted in more than one shouting match. At that point, Remus had taken over helping Harry get ready to keep the peace.

“What time is it?”

“5:51.” Remus said as he consulted his watch. Harry groaned, threw his head back, and covered his face with hands. 

“I don't know if I can do this,” he said for what was likely the tenth time in the last forty-five minutes. “I know, I know. I have no choice. Whatever. I'm just scared out of my wits, that's all.” Harry removed his hands and paced, his skin going from red to white, and had begun to take on a greenish tinge when he asked, “what time is it now?”

“5:52,” he looked up from his watch, frowning a little. “Harry, _relax_. It'll not do if you throw up all over Draco.” Harry snorted.

“The Boy Who Barfed.” 

“Not funny.”

“It was a little funny,” Harry smirked and raked a hand through his hair, avoiding the salve in the process. The bad joke had helped him relax, and he took several deep breaths to try and keep himself calm. “I hate this. I don't want to do this, I feel like I _can't_ do this, but at the same time I just want to get it over with.”

“It's a fairly normal reaction, I'd be more worried if you were completely calm,” Remus replied, “do you want to go over everything again?”

“No, I think I got it,” Harry said quickly, “introductions, dinner, dancing, then try to avoid hexing each other.”

“That's the long and short of it,” Sirius cut in as he stepped into the sitting room. He looked Harry over once, and smiled. “You look good. You ready?”

“No,” he said, though he was smiling a little, relieved that Sirius seemed calm, or calmer, at the very least.

“Let's get going then.” Remus stood up at Sirius's words, smoothing down his own dress robes. Harry turned back to the mirror to do a quick check, turning to look at his hair. The bald patches had filled back in, and he sighed in relief. Sometimes, he loved Potions.

Harry moved to join Remus and Sirius, doing his best to quell the almost overwhelming sense of foreboding, and cast himself away.

Harry's knees were a little weak, and he reached out to grip at the cool iron of the Manor's gates to keep himself from toppling over.

“I hate apparition,” he mumbled under his breath, and looked up to see Remus and Sirius watching him with varying levels of concern and impatience. Considering they had to practically drag him here kicking and screaming, he couldn't exactly blame them for the look they were giving him. “I'm okay,” he said quickly, though he felt far from it. “Let's just go,” the pair turned out of their apparition site and led Harry along the gate until they were moving along the side of the manor, instead of the front. They slowed to a stop upon reaching an ornately wrought gargoyle of iron, which was crouching at the base of the gate, instead of being perched on top of it. 

Remus looked down at it with a grimace, as it barely came up to his knee. He pulled out his wand and tapped it once.

“Rite,” he said once, a word that was evidently a password, as the gargoyle suddenly jumped up and stepped aside, and an opening in the gate appeared. Harry followed Sirius and Remus through, turning back to watch the gargoyle move back onto place, and the gate reformed. 

The trio crossed through the garden to a side door, which opened even before they reached it.

_'How does Lucius_ do _that?_ ' Harry wondered, though he did his best to keep his expression blank as they approached. Lucius gave Harry a once-over, though it was similar to the way Sirius had looked at him earlier, the condescending glint in Lucius's eye made Harry feel like he was six years old all over again. Would the man ever look at him and see an adult, not a child?

“I'm impressed, Mr Potter,” he drawled, moving his gaze back up to Harry's eyes, his eyes flicking ever so briefly to his scar. “Those colours suit you.” Harry felt his cheeks burn, and he turned to give Sirius a significant look, but he had already pressed ahead, thanking Lucius for opening their home to them with stiff, awkward words.

“Come along,” he turned in a sweep of his deep green robes, “we will make the announcement shortly, until then I will show you where you will wait.” 

' _Oh God,'_ Harry thought as a fresh surge of panic washed over him,  _'this is it. It's actually happening._ ' 

Doing his best to appear nonchalant, Harry followed Lucius, Sirius, and Remus through the house. As they walked, Harry could hear the babble of voices and soft orchestral music growing closer. He tried to breathe deeply, but his stomach was tied up in knots and his throat felt as though it had closed up. For a fleeting moment, he was grateful he didn't need to talk anytime soon, certain that if he was asked to, he'd barely be able to manage a soft squeaking sound.

Harry hadn't been paying attention to where they were going, and soon he found himself before a very plain-looking door—or, at least, plain for a Malfoy. Simple, but highly polished expensive oak with a shiny brass handle.

Lucius flicked his wand, the door clicked and swung open to reveal not a room, as Harry had expected, but something of an alcove made of stone and marble. There was a smooth bench made of the same stone jutting from the wall, and across from it was a heavy red curtain that just barely brushed the ground. The room beyond it shone its light through it, bathing the floor in deep crimson. Harry looked up at the men as he stepped across the threshold.

“You will wait in here, Mr Potter,” Lucius instructed, “and listen for the announcement. When I call your name, the curtain will open and you will walk straight to myself and Mr Black. Do you understand the proceedings following that?

“Yes. Er—yes Mr Malfoy,” Harry replied, his voice barely more than a soft rasp. Addressing the elder Malfoy somehow made the situation more real, and despite his nerves, he resisted the urge to fidget in place. 

“Good luck, Harry,” Sirius said with a small, reassuring smile before he was sealed in and left alone. 

The wait felt very long to him.

In reality however, Harry assumed it couldn't have been more than ten minutes or so. He sat on the bench, his chin cradled in his hands and his elbows braced against his knees. Sitting had helped ease his nerves a little, but he felt them surge anew when he heard Lucius's voice suddenly, magically magnified rent the silence.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Lucius said, addressing the crowd, “esteemed Witches and Wizards, it is my great honour to open my home to you this evening for the celebration of Lughnasadh.” Harry heard a round of polite applause. He stood up and smoothed out his robes, praying that he did not trip or do anything equally as embarrassing after his name was called. 

“However,” Lucius continued, “we also come together tonight with a very special announcement, the joining of two families.” Harry moved to the centre of the little room, breathing slowly to hopefully erase some of the panic from his face. “It is my great honour to announce, thirteen years after its invocation, the Rite of Betrothal.” Harry heard a few soft gasps as well as more than a few distinctly female squeals of excitement. “May I present my son, Draco Malfoy,” Lucius finished, and loud applause followed Lucius's words. Harry assumed that Draco was making his way out, and he swallowed thickly again as he tried to rearrange his expression into something neutral, though he wasn't sure how well he had managed it.

“The Coupling of eighteen years past comes full circle this evening,” Sirius's voice chimed in, his voice magically magnified as Lucius's had been. “It is my great honour to present my adoptive son, and Draco's bonded-to-be...Harry Potter.” The curtains were flung open and Harry stepped forward. The applause felt to him like a dull roar, similar to the sound of putting a seashell to your ear. Remembering Remus's words and Sirius's incessant nagging, he kept his eyes fixed resolutely forward, and walked down the carpeted path that had been laid out for him. He stopped on the edge of a large open space that he assumed must be the dance floor. 

Sirius and Lucius had stepped aside. If they had said anything more, Harry wasn't aware of it. Directly before him stood Draco, his familiar scowl, silver hair, and white-silver robes clinging to him much in the same way Harry's did. But despite his joking with Remus, he felt a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, though very different than the one he had expected to feel.

Draco seemed to be experiencing something similar, as his scowl smoothed out slowly before it faded completely. His expression shifted to one of quiet surprise, his lips parted slightly, and his grey eyes widened a little, as though he was seeing Harry anew.

There was nothing for it—Harry thought Draco looked beautiful.

It was rarely a term that Harry felt applied to men—it was better suited to the gentle grace of women, he thought. Draco was not feminine in the slightest, but in that moment he looked both delicate and strong, carrying the high cheekbones and lithe frame of his mother, with facial features strikingly similar to his father. Harry had to force his feet to move, as he was nearly struck dumb by his shock at how he felt looking at the Slytherin youth. He could feel some of the animosity of the past falling into the background. He wanted to hate him; he wanted to loathe this entire song-and-dance of his arranged marriage, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to.

He stopped just short of Draco, lifted his right hand and pressed it over his heart, and bowed deeply at almost a ninety degree angle, but tilted his head up a little to keep his glasses from slipping off. He straightened up, and half a beat later Draco mirrored his movements. His mouth had twitched into a familiar  _Malfoy_ smirk just before he stepped forward and brushed Harry's lips with his own. 

Harry remembered vaguely that he was supposed to be kissed on the cheek, wasn't it? Or was it the hand? He couldn't remember, but neither was he complaining. Harry returned the kiss, just as softly, afraid of spoiling the moment.

When they pulled apart, Harry remembered suddenly were he was, and after he laced his fingers with Draco's, he turned to face the crowd. They were applauding, and Harry could see that a few witches were dabbing at the corners of their eyes.

Draco smiled broadly—a genuine smile, Harry noted, and not a smirk—as he turned to nod at a few people in particular. Harry could only smile somewhat sheepishly, feeling a warm rush of relief when he spotted a tall, gangling ginger in the crowd. Ron and Hermione were grinning and clapping hard; Hermione was crying, and Ron was waggling his eyebrows at him suggestively. He averted his gaze quickly, not keen on the idea of going beet-red in front of at least a hundred people.

The crowd slowly dispersed, and Harry followed Draco's lead to a long table that faced the hall, where Lucius, Narcissa, Remus, and Sirius already sat. Two seats right in the centre were empty, and Draco sat next to his father, while Harry sat between him and Sirius. After they had settled in, he felt Draco's hand under the table brush his fingers. A tickle of delight seemed to rush through Harry, and they tangled their fingers together under the table; not holding hands exactly, but almost.

Around the hall, couples and groups moved to the round tables that had been arranged a step below theirs. A moment later, the empty silver platters before them filled with food, and Harry felt a rush of familiarity at the sight. It made him feel distinctly like he was back at Hogwarts, and he reluctantly let go of Draco's hand to help himself.

“No catastrophes, then,” Sirius murmured under his breath, and Harry barely managed to stifle his laughter.

“The night is young, don't count your dragons before they've hatched,” Harry replied simply, and sipped his wine while Sirius chuckled softly and Harry began to eat. 

Many of the dishes he only vaguely recognized, having tried them maybe once or twice at Hogwarts; there was next to no meat present, and instead a variety of breads and vegetable dishes. Sitting at the high table, he could almost feel the hundreds of eyes flitting in his direction, and he didn't like the feeling of a spotlight being on him while he was trying to eat. Draco wasn't speaking, but kept watching him with a small smile, once more as though he was seeing Harry for the first time.

The look was intense, and Harry felt himself blushing. He looked away, scanning the hall for familiar faces, and couldn't help but snicker a little when he spotted Ron and Hermione at a table with a few Ministry wizards that he only vaguely recognized. Ron was using his old table manners standby of cramming as much food into his mouth as he could, while Hermione smacked him and seemed to be reprimanding him, while her own face went very red. He snickered a little and turned his attention back to the table.

“If he does that at the bonding ceremony, the whole thing's off,” Draco whispered into Harry's ear, and they both laughed.

Pudding replaced the rich dishes, but instead of the traditional English fare Harry had expected, he found instead warm mulled cider, apple tarts, chocolate-raspberry silk pie, and a variety of other elegant fruit-based desserts. He helped himself to a tart, his free hand slipping under the table to twine with Draco's again.

Soon the remnants of the sweets faded away, and Lucius and Sirius stood up on either side of them. He was relieved to see that Draco looked as nervous as he felt.

Harry watched as people around the hall stood up, and Lucius waved his wand in a great, sweeping motion. The tables and chairs lifted into the air, floated outward to line the edges of the hall, and the high table they sat at suddenly split into two, leaving a great gap where he and Draco sat.

Remembering suddenly that he was expected to dance, he stood up and walked down the few steps off the dais, trying to move somewhat gracefully, but he wasn't sure how well he had managed it. Thankfully, he didn't stumble over his robes, and he and Draco stopped in the centre of the hall and turned to face one another in the centre of the hall.

Draco smiled at him. Not a smirk, or a trademark Malfoy sneer, but a genuine, open smile. He took Harry's free hand and rested it against Harry's hip as the first quivering notes of a viola filled the hall.

He followed Draco's lead, as it was obvious he had done this sort of thing before. Harry found himself struggling to recall his lessons, but with Draco's help, he managed to keep from embarrassing himself.

Harry was distantly aware of the sound of gentle applause around him, but it was as though he and the fair boy that held him had been sealed off in their own little world. In the corners of Harry's vision he could see other couples coming onto the floor, but it was as if his focus had been magnetically charged towards Draco. He couldn't take his eyes off him, and Draco in turn stared at him just as intensely, seemingly unable to wipe that minute smile off his face.

As the music faded into silence, Draco stopped dancing, but left his hand to rest on Harry's hip for a moment longer. He gently tugged Harry towards him and captured his lips in another feather-light kiss.

Harry lifted his hand from Draco's shoulder and tentatively brushed the back of his knuckles along the ivory skin of his cheek. They reluctantly pulled apart a moment later, and too focused on one another to offer any of the other guests even a passing glance, they stepped off the dance floor hand in hand.

 


	12. Grave Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The conclusion to The Stag and The Snake, Part One! Thank you guys so much for following this story, I am super amazed and deeply humbled by all the support this story received. I hope you guys will stick around for Part 2! I am super duper proud of this chapter, and I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter 12 – Grave Mistakes

 

The pair reached the edge of the dance floor, and Harry turned to look at his companion.

“So er, what now?” he asked, and Draco laughed as he released Harry's hand. He snatched two glasses of wine off the serving platter of a nearby waiter, and passed one to Harry. He took it, and smiled a little when he felt Draco's arm coil around his waist.

“Come on,” Draco said as he steered Harry away from the crowd and over to one of the vacant tables. They both sat down, and for something to do with his hands, Harry sipped the wine that he had been given. He had never had much taste for red wine, but he found that whatever kind it was, he liked it. 

Draco shifted his arm from around Harry to clasp his hand once more, and their fingers almost instinctively threaded together. Harry couldn't exactly pinpoint what he was feeling—attraction, love, lust, or something else entirely; what he was certain of, was how much he liked it.

“I must say Potter,” Draco said in his familiar drawl, “this is not how I expected the evening to go.” Harry hid a grin behind his glass.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “I was expecting less hand-holding and more hexing.” Draco turned his head away and his shoulders quivered a little with silent laughter.

“We're on the same page then,” he said once he had composed himself. Draco took another small sip of wine while he traced small circles on the back of Harry's hand with his thumb. “I hope you didn't object to my...leading, I had a feeling you might not be used to so much pomp and circumstance.” Harry smiled a little while his gaze to drift back to the dance floor, and he watched the couples move and spin as he enjoyed the feeling of Draco's hand in his.

“You'd be right,” Harry answered at last as he set his glass down on the table and trailed his fingertips along the stem of the glass. “I mean, there was the Yule Ball, but that was like a rave compared to this.”

“A what?” Draco asked, perplexed. Harry chuckled a little, realizing too late that he had lapsed back into muggle references.

“Sort of a muggle dance party thing,” Harry explained, “I've never been to one, but they cram too many people into a dance hall or warehouse, play loud crazy music, and everyone does a lot of drugs.” Harry looked back at him, and saw that Draco's head was cocked to the side as he worked through what Harry had told him. He wasn't certain whether or not Draco knew what drugs were, as he couldn't recall a wizard ever using the term, and he elaborated, “sort of like illegal potions in the muggle world that make you hallucinate or make you hyper-sensitive to everything around you, and stuff like that.”

“That is the most bizarre thing I have ever heard,” he replied; Harry laughed, and Draco smiled warmly at him. It was a strange expression to see on his face, as Harry had become so accustomed to the haughty arrogance the boy had perfected while at school. He didn't dislike it, though. 

“Potter,” Draco began, and Harry cocked an eyebrow, silently asking him why he maintained using his surname. He paused with a short exhalation of breath that could have been a laugh, and started again. “Harry, would it be all right if I kissed you again?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Harry asked, and with mirrored grins they leant in and their mouths fit together as though they were two halves made whole. It was more insistent than the butterfly kisses they had exchanged so far that evening, and Harry loved the fireworks of sensation that coursed through him at the contact. 

“Ah, young love,” a wistful voice said, and the pair jumped apart in surprise. Harry looked up, ready to tell whoever it was to _piss off_ , but stopped himself short when he realized it was Ron and Hermione. Harry did not fail to notice that Draco's expression suddenly became rather fixed. Without waiting for an invitation, Ron sat down heavily next to Harry. Hermione joined them after a moment's hesitation, her eyes flitting from Harry to Draco, and back again. “So, work out your differences then?” Ron asked, and smirked when Harry snorted.

“Yeah, something like that,” Harry replied as he squeezed his companion's hand, and he smiled a little when he felt Draco reciprocate. 

“You two looked so _good_ together though,” Hermione said almost breathlessly. Harry was a little startled, as Hermione wasn't usually one to get swept away by romantic displays. “I mean, you two looked so...I don't know, like you _fit._ Like two sides of a coin, light and dark. I can't explain it.” Harry could feel his face colouring, while Ron rolled his eyes. Under the table, Draco was being decidedly unhelpful in ridding Harry of his blush by shifting slightly closer and pressing the outside of his thigh into Harry's. 

“I—er, thanks, I think,” Harry said while he attempted to laugh off his slight embarrassment. He wasn't used to being fawned over like this, but when it looked like Hermione might start gushing more praise she stopped herself short and simply smiled. 

Under the table, Harry shifted in a meagre attempt to push Draco back, but instead he hooked his left ankle around Harry's right, smirking a little while Harry tried to get a handle on his blush. It wasn't as though Ron and Hermione knew what his Slytherin companion was up to, but he still felt embarrassed by the casual way in which Draco had intertwined himself with Harry. Had they been alone, Harry definitely wouldn't have minded, but he didn't love the idea of Draco giving him a hard-on in front of his friends.

“So this thing, it's happening then?” Ron asked, his eyes shifting from Harry to Draco. He didn't look embarrassed or disgusted by the idea of his best friend marrying a Malfoy, and Harry felt the look was more curious than anything else. Harry chewed the side of his lip lightly, but he couldn't stifle his grin, while he tried to disentangle his leg from Draco's. He finally relented, and shifted back a little, albeit reluctantly.

“Yeah, I think it is,” Harry answered, while they readjusted their hand-holding under the table, though neither boy was willing to let go. 

“I hope you know that makes you an honorary Weasley, Malfoy,” Ron said with a grin, “Harry's practically family.” Harry wasn't surprised when Draco snorted with laughter.

“Not likely, Weasley,” he said, taking on his old holier-than-thou tone of voice. “Though if you would rather think that, wouldn't that also make you an honorary _Malfoy_?” It took Harry a great deal of self control to keep from laughing as Ron's face went almost as red as their wine. Draco smirked, seemingly pleased with the reaction. 

Hermione seemed to have sensed the danger that Draco's comment had sparked and she quickly grabbed Ron's hand.

“Come on, Ron,” she said, “let's go get something to drink.” The ginger paused, looking from his girlfriend to Harry, then shrugged and allowed himself to be dragged away, though not before shooting another glare towards Draco. 

“Thank the _Gods,_ ” Draco said the moment they were out of earshot, “I thought they'd never leave.” He smirked, and Harry turned to him with a frown.

“They're my friends, Draco,” Harry said, but the admonishment did not seem to have much effect on the blond, “at least _try_ not to give Ron reason to murder you.” Apparently unconcerned, Draco sipped his wine, then turned to Harry, an almost wicked glint in his eye.

“But with them hanging around, how am I supposed to get in a good snog?” he asked, and without waiting for Harry's response, Draco cupped his cheek with his free hand, and pulled Harry in for a kiss. 

As with every kiss with Draco, Harry felt as if he was melting. He felt warm all over, and it sent shocks of arousal straight to his groin. He shuddered into the kiss, but broke it sooner than he would have liked to in favour of keeping himself from getting  _too_ excited by it.

“You seemed to be getting a pretty good grope in with Ron not five feet from you,” Harry commented against Draco's mouth, before he kissed him again. 

“Yes, but as much as I loved making you turn that delightful shade of pink, this is much more fun,” Draco replied, while he curled one arm around Harry's waist, edging him closer.

Draco was the one to pull back this time before it could get too heated, and he rested his forehead against Harry's.

“Best not get too intense,” he murmured, his soft breath ghosting over Harry's parted lips. “I think my father would kill me if I bent you over this table right now, or, you know, whatever.” Harry chuckled, unable to wipe the grin off his face.

“Yeah, that might be a little awkward,” Harry replied, and opened his mouth to speak again, but was stopped short when from somewhere above them, they heard the distinctive sound of someone clearing their throat. 

They both turned to look, one of their hands still intertwined, while Draco's opposite one was resting on Harry's cheek, while Harry's was placed on the side of Draco's neck. Harry could see that Draco looked more than a touch irritated at being interrupted, while Harry struggled to wipe the look of surprise off his face when he saw Rufus Scrimgeour standing before them.

“Minister,” Draco said by way of greeting, reluctantly pulling away from Harry to sit up straight. 

“Mr Malfoy,” the Minister of Magic greeted before he placed a closed fist over his heart and gave them both a short bow in turn. “Might I ask for this dance, as way of congratulations for your bonding announcement?” Though the question was not entirely unexpected, it took Harry a great deal of self control to swallow his protests under a neutral mask.

“It would be an honour, Minister,” Draco replied smoothly, then turned back to Harry momentarily, lifted Harry's hand and placed a chaste kiss upon his knuckles, then reluctantly let go and allowed himself to be escorted away.

Harry eased back in his seat and crossed his legs. Malfoy usually danced quite gracefully, but as he watched him with the Minister, they seemed to be moving rather awkwardly. Harry scooped up his nearly forgotten wineglass, and sipped it while he watched them.

“Why is your boyfriend dancing with the Minister of Magic?” a male voice asked, and Harry looked up to see that Ron and Hermione had returned. The drinks they had claimed to have gone to get were nowhere to be seen, and both of them looked rather flushed, and their robes were distinctly rumpled.

“Fiancé,” Harry corrected. “It's a tradition-thing that Sirius told me about. If someone asks us to dance, we're supposed to accept.”

“Okay...isn't that a bit strange, though? Watching someone you're gonna bond with dancing with someone else?” Ron asked as sat down next to him, closely followed by Hermione. 

“It's a bit weird,” Harry agreed, “but there's not much I can do about—” 

“—Mr Potter,” a silky and distinctly familiar voice said, cutting him off. Harry turned to look and he suddenly found himself face to face with his old Potions Master. 

Snape was dressed in his trademark black, though the robes he wore were much more elegant than those Harry had grown accustomed to seeing him in while at school. He offered Harry a small bow and he felt himself go very red, knowing full well what was coming. “Given that your companion is otherwise occupied, might you indulge me in a dance?”

Harry heard Ron choke behind him, and Hermione stifle a small gasp of surprise. Harry's mind had gone blank with shock, and he opened and closed his mouth several times, gaping at the older man, before he found his voice again.

“Uh, er, yes. All right,” Harry replied, and his consent seemed to send Ron over the edge as he sputtered behind him, as though intending to intervene on Harry's behalf. He caught a brief glance of his and Hermione's flabbergasted expressions as Snape took his hand and led him back to the dance floor. Harry could feel his face still burning, though more from the reactions of his friends than anything else.

As with his last dance, Snape took one of his hands and rested the other against Harry's waist, leading him in a slow waltz. He was watching Harry in a way that was very similar to how Draco had been eyeing him all evening, but the expression from Snape made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

“Professor—” Harry began, but Snape chuckled softly and cut him off.

“Please, Harry, I'm hardly your teacher any longer,” he purred while smiled slightly, an expression Harry was certain he'd never seen upon the man's face before, “do call me Severus.” Harry felt his face grow warm again. The familiarity was extremely strange, and the concept of calling the man who had terrorized him for seven years by his first name was, if possible, even more bewildering.

“A—all right, er, Severus,” Harry replied, and fought to hide his grimace; the name sounded wrong in his mouth. “I was just wondering, er, why you would ask to dance with _me._ I—I mean in school it seemed like you hated me.” He was blushing again, but Snape seemed strangely pleased by this reaction, and chuckled.

“Ah, Harry, I did. I _loathed_ you,” Snape replied with that same low, purring tone of voice, “spitting image of your father...a never ending reminder of my memories of him, the good—and the bad.” His dark eyes glittered almost dangerously, and Harry swallowed nervously. What was Snape getting at? Harry had a feeling that whatever it was, it wasn't good. 

“But wonder of wonders,” Snape continued, in that same smooth, silky tone that made Harry almost shiver with discomfort, “I realized that after so many years of saving your skin from one harebrained misadventure or another, I no longer detested you. I wanted to _claim_ you.” 

 

_What?_

 

Harry's absolute shock must have shown on his face, while Snape's hand on his waist moved slightly lower, his thumb tracing circles against Harry's hipbone, and it took a great deal of self control to keep himself from pulling away. In his peripheral vision, he saw Sirius lurch forward, and Remus grab his arm, shaking his head firmly. He refocused his attention on his former teacher.

“C-claim me, sir?” Harry asked weakly, and he hated how much his voice shook as he spoke.

“Oh yes,” Snape replied smoothly, “who would have thought that that awkward eleven-year-old that you once were could grow into such a...handsome shape.” Harry felt himself go red again, and he swallowed thickly. He had no idea what Snape wanted him to say. What _could_ he say, following a statement like that? He opened and closed his mouth several times, though no sound came out.

“The offer is simple, Harry,” Snape continued, watching him with such intensity that it made Harry feel, if possible, even more unsettled. “Bond with me instead of that insufferable brat. I can give you as much, if not more, than he ever could.” Snape paused, his mouth stretching into a near-lecherous smirk as he continued, “and, of course, I have certain... _experience_ that Mr Malfoy will have yet to gain for himself.” He chuckled, adjusting his grip on Harry's hip, and his long, pale fingers came alarmingly close to his groin. Harry jerked in surprise, and Snape reluctantly readjusted his hold on Harry's hip.

“I—I can't sir,” Harry stuttered, trying desperately to get some sort of control over his shock and panic. “I've been betrothed to Draco since I was little, it's a binding magical contract.” At his words, Snape chuckled with amusement, though there was no warmth in the response.

“And when did Famous Harry Potter ever abide by the rules?” Snape asked, while his voice still carried that low purr, and Harry felt his unease grow even more pronounced. “Contracts can be broken,” he said simply as he moved closer to Harry. Harry tried to step back, but Snape mirrored his movements at once. 

“Sir, I—I—” Harry stuttered, and Snape pulled him close with unexpected strength. The suddenness of the movement caused Harry to stumble into the embrace, his eyes wide and fearful.

“I believe this is where _I_ cut in,” a cold voice said, and they both turned to look. Draco was eyeing Snape with an expression just short of fury. Snape's grip slackened for a moment, and Harry took the opportunity to wrench himself out of the man's grasp. He moved quickly to Draco, who draped an arm over Harry's shoulders. 

“Like I said, Professor,” Harry said as calmly as he could, “I have a Betrothal Contract with Draco. I _want_ to bond with him, not you.” Harry forced his words to come out emotionless and final, leaving no room for his affections to be questioned. Next to him, he saw Draco smirk, and tighten his hold around Harry briefly.

Snape's faced coloured ever so slightly, and he bared his teeth in his fury.

“This isn't the end,” he said in a low growl intended for only Draco and Harry to hear, “you _will_ regret this.” In a swirl of great black robes, he swept from the hall. The moment he was gone, Harry let out a soft sigh of relief. 

Draco led him off the floor without a word, and moved to one of the side doors. He cracked it open to reveal a secluded area of the Manor's gardens, decorated with fountains and lush flora dappled with the bright light of the waxing moon. The fresh air helped settle Harry's frayed nerves, and Draco moved to pull back his arm, but Harry instead leaned against him.

“What on earth happened, Harry?” Draco asked after a moment of silence, and he wrapped his other arm around him, pulling Harry into a gentle embrace, “you looked terrified.”

“Shocked, more like,” he mumbled while he pressed his cheek against Draco's shoulder and looped his arms around his companion's waist. “Snape wanted me to bond with him instead of you.” Draco started slightly at this admission; clearly whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that.

“We have a Betrothal Contract,” Draco said, his arms tightening around Harry ever so slightly. “It's magically binding.”

“I said that; he seemed to have a hard time taking _no_ for an answer,” Harry replied, and paused momentarily to enjoy the feeling of Draco just holding him. It was comforting, though as they stood there something else occurred to him. “I mean, I'm not _helpless,_ ” Harry said quickly, “I can take care of myself, he just...I dunno, he caught me off guard.” He felt Draco's warm breath tickle his cheek as he chuckled softly.

“I've known you for thirteen years, and for the last seven of them I watched you throw yourself headfirst into the stupidest and most dangerous situations, only to come out of them alive every time,” Draco said simply, though if Harry wasn't mistaken, he was almost certain that there was a note of awe in the blond's tone of voice. “Believe me, you're _far_ from helpless,” Draco finished as he shifted his position slightly, and Harry felt a light kiss press into his forehead. Harry's eyelids fluttered at the sensation, and he let out a gentle sigh of contentment.

“But that doesn't mean you can't accept help from time to time when you need it,” Draco said after a moment, and Harry smiled as he tilted his head up. Draco seemed to have been thinking along similar lines, and their lips met. Harry had felt the world around him dissolve every time Draco had kissed him that evening, and this kiss was no different. This time, he also felt as though the kiss had a convalescence to it; washing away the shock and distress that Snape's presence had caused.  
  


~*~

 

Draco and Harry spent the rest of the evening joined at the hip. They talked and drank, Draco tried to provoke Ron when Harry was otherwise occupied, which spurred Hermione to drag Ron off for 'drinks', and in response, Draco would pull Harry forward to kiss him deeply. The scant requests to dance they received from other guests they declined politely, though Harry could see Lucius and Sirius looking mildly irritated at them when they did that—not that they cared. After what happened with Snape, neither of them were very keen to be parted again.

Harry could not believe what a good time he was having. He was so caught up with talking and laughing with his friends, and sneaking off with Draco—the latter often intercepted by Lucius or Sirius, who nudged them back towards the festivities. Harry could barely recall why he had been dreading the ball in the first place, and when the clocks chimed midnight, Harry felt a little sorry to see it end. Unlike the last ball he had attended, he wouldn't have complained if this one lasted all night. He and Draco headed towards the doors, their pinkie fingers hooked together while their parents looked on with looks of both relief and approval.

Though Harry was unused to it, he did his best to bid a goodnight to the guests as they trickled out. When Ron and Hermione stopped before them, Harry could see Lucius's eyes flit directly to Hermione, the corners of his mouth twitching a little—clearly old prejudices died hard. Harry narrowed his eyes, all but daring him to make a comment. Thankfully, he shifted his gaze away, though it seemed as though it pained him to do it.

Hermione threw her arms around Harry before he could protest, and he stumbled backward a little, though grateful that he didn't fall. When she pulled back and took Ron's hand. Her eyes were sparkling slightly as she beamed at him.

“I'm so happy for you Harry, really,” she said, her voice a little weak, but he recognized that they were happy tears in her eyes, and he offered her a meek smile in return. 

“I'll send you guys an owl as soon as we get some of the finer details are worked out,” Harry said, and Hermione smiled brightly again, while Ron cuffed him on the shoulder. 

“Good on you, mate,” he said with a genuine grin. Harry felt a little relieved; it would have been exhausting to spend the next however many years breaking up fights between his best friend and his bonded. Ron's eyes flicked once to Draco, as though uncertain what to say. Without a word, he turned and led Hermione out, who was still dabbing the corners of her eyes a little. 

When the hall and grounds had completely emptied, Harry turned back to Draco. He really didn't want to go, and for a moment he found himself at a loss for what to say.

“Well, er, I guess I'll see you soon?” Harry asked, and Draco smirked as he slipped his hands under Harry's outer robe, hooked his fingers in the belt loops of Harry's trousers, and tugged him forward for a slow, tender kiss. Harry felt his face flame, distinctly aware of the four adults watching them. The impatient clearing of throats behind them made the pair reluctantly pull apart.

“Definitely,” Harry said when some of his embarrassment had faded, “We have a bonding ceremony to arrange, after all.” Harry hung on to him for another moment, then reluctantly untangled himself from the blond and went to join Sirius and Remus.

“Well...bye then,” Harry said meekly while he smiled at him, and Draco offered a small smile in return. He turned and stepped out of the hall, and followed his parents across the grounds and out of the gates. He could feel Draco's eyes on him until they were out of sight of the Manor's doors.

“That went well,” Sirius commented with a small smirk, which caused Harry's face to flame again. He was relieved that the darkness muted it slightly, though Sirius still chuckled a little, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder.

“Yeah, it went well,” Harry agreed. He didn't know what else to say, but clearly his pleasure showed on his face.

“Try to resist sneaking back to the manor after we get home,” Remus said with a small smile, “I believe Lucius would not be pleased if you snuck back with the intent of ravaging his only son.”

“Remus!” Harry cried, his eyes wide with surprise at the comment. Sirius roared with laughter, and while Remus appeared pleased at the reaction his words had caused.

“Not to worry, Harry,” he continued, while Sirius struggled to compose himself, “you'll be seeing plenty of Draco over the next few months. We do have a bonding ceremony to plan, after all.” They stepped off the main road and into the copse of trees that had served as their apparition point earlier that evening. 

“Yeah, I—” Harry stopped short, his smile faltering as a rustling and snapping of twigs beyond their range of vision distracted him. Sirius and Remus froze, and their heads whipped towards the source of the sound, while their hands reached for their wands. Harry opened his mouth to call out, but in the same moment, he saw a bright flash of white light, and his world went black.

 

~*~

 

Draco strode through the gardens of his home's sprawling grounds, unable to wipe the small smile from his face. Had he not the reserved Malfoy sense of dignity drilled into his head, he was certain that he might have even been skipping. He dropped onto one of the stone benches that rested near one of the many fountains around the property, his head cradled in his hands, and the same smile still spread across his face.

“Draco?” Narcissa called, “are you out here?” He looked up and turned his head back towards the house.

“Over here, Mother,” he called, and he watched her glide towards him, something small and glinting clasped between her fingertips. She reached out and Draco extended his hand at the same moment, and she dropped something small and metal in his hand. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a tiny golden snitch.

“The house elves found that while cleaning the hall,” she explained, a small ghost of a smile touching her lips.

“It's Pott—Harry's,” Draco amended at the last second, “he must have dropped it.” He turned the small piece of jewellery in his hand, another small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“They only just left, Draco,” she said with a knowing smile, “if you hurry, you might be able to catch them before they Disapparate. He smirked, and nodded to his mother in silent thanks before he ran off, Malfoy dignity be damned.

Draco ran the entire way to the Apparition spot, his cheeks flushed as he fought to catch his breath as he slowed to a walk. Draco felt his heart fall a little, noticing the dead silence in the trees ahead of him. Had he missed them? He was tempted to turn back, but he wanted to be certain. As Draco stepped forward, he broke into a run an instant later when he caught the sight of a leg sticking out at an odd angle against the ground. As he got closer, Draco found Sirius and Remus unconscious and spreadeagled upon the ground. Harry was nowhere to be seen.

Fighting down his panic, Draco dropped to his knees and pulled out his wand.

“ _Enervate,_ ” he murmured, while he struggled to keep his hands steady. Sirius's eyes flicked open and he sat up with a groan, while Draco repeated the spell on Remus. He wasted no time and demanded in as even a voice as he could manage, “what happened? Where's Harry?” 

“Don't know, didn't see,” Sirius mumbled, as he worked through his disorientation, his voice panicked and anguished. “ _Harry, they took Harry..._ ” Sirius let out a moan of distress, “ _stunned us. Didn't see..._ ” Draco didn't hear much more.

Draco felt his legs give out beneath him. Shock and grief consumed him. He buried his face in his hands.

 

“ _Harry..._ ”

 

In a Ministry office not far away, a scroll of parchment ignited and curled into ash.

 

End of Part I

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh no! Cliffhanger! What has happened to our hero? Keep your eyes peeled for Part II of The Stag and The Snake: Anima Speculo Maledictum. Coming soon! By the way, if you're like: What gives?! Where's the animal transformation? It actually takes place in the second part of this fic, but I felt it was important to include it in the tags for part 1 so that it won't come as an unpleasant shock to people who maybe aren't into that.


End file.
